


To Which Star

by amralimet



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 87,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amralimet/pseuds/amralimet
Summary: Months after the Battle of the Five Armies, Kili awakens. His life was spared yet the world grows dark as he fears Tauriel has forsaken him. Beyond the Lonely Mountain, Tauriel, unaware Kili lives, finally moves past grief and seeks to reunite with Legolas. Yet something keeps calling her back. A journey in dreams, stars, and yearning.  Is star-crossed love forever doomed? Or can stars conjunct?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 81





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first foray into this, years very late but very timely when all the comfort is needed in this world. The title refers to the lyrics from the French musical, Romeo et Juliette, very apropos to this pairing. The lyrics from "Le Balcon" (the balcony):
> 
> JULIETTE  
> A quelle étoile, à quel Dieu,  
> Je dois cet amour dans ses yeux  
> Qui a voulu de là-haut  
> Que Juliette aime Roméo
> 
> (to which star, to which god,  
> do I owe the love in his eyes?  
> who decided up there  
> for Juliet to love Romeo?)
> 
> And just for fair warning, there will be ALOT of Romeo and Juliet references because this pairing demands it. There might be some Thorin/Bilbo in there at some point, just not sure when. Still in the process of writing. Anyway, please consume this with delight because it has filled my heart with joy to write. I will include little notes along chapters for fun. Thank you.

She was dreaming. It was merely a dream because it was too sweet and too tender. This, she knew, and yet she let the dream be. He had woken in her arms. His eyes have been filled with light. She had smiled through tears. And the kiss she had planted on him had been warm, not cold. And the stone had not been returned. The stone had been kept. He had returned safely to her. But he was not hers to keep. The stone was cold…

Tauriel woke up. She was cold. She could not live on like these.

These dreams kept her up. Sweet, they were, but cruel was their aftertaste. At least the stars were out. They looked down upon her. With pity? With love? Who was she?

She had been Tauriel, daughter of the forest. Captain of the Guard in Mirkwood. Now, she was Tauriel, the broken-hearted. Tauriel, the once exiled whose own light was fading.

 _No_ , she tugged at her heart. She would not fade. Not yet. There was still life left in her. Her soul would quicken again. Or she had to believe it would. Yet, her heart, her heart would not. Tears threatened to fill her eyes.

 _No, not yet. Not tonight_ , she begged herself. She sat up. The air was cool and yet spring was near. She felt it in her bones. She was eagerly waiting for it. She begged it to come sooner. _Quicken my heart, melt away this bitter winter inside_ , she thought closing her eyes. If she closed them hard enough, the tears would not come.

She could go back to Mirkwood. Thranduil, through all her insolence and his own pride, had taken pity upon her when she saw her cradling the dwarf in her arms. He had allowed her to return back to Mirkwood, but knowing Legolas had left, she felt it null. Legolas had been her home, her brother, without him the woods would seem as empty as she felt. No, her only path was to follow Legolas, find the Dunedain. Find something meaningful to do. Something to numb herself.

Mirkwood was too close to the Lonely Mountain. And the Lonely Mountain cut at her heart. Every glimpse of it was a fresh cut. Soon she would be far away from it. She would not see it. She would not recall it. And yet tonight the skies were clear enough that if an Elf looked, they would see the shape of it. An ominous shape out in the distance. _I care nothing for it_ , she thought looking at it with resentment. It is a dull rock that harbors stones inside. Stones that do not move or breathe. They have no life. She cared nothing for them. “How can they bury their death?” she asked, her voice almost breaking.

She spoke out loud yet the trees around did not respond. They used to speak to her, she used to feel them once. Daughter of the forest, she was. But now she lived in such shadow, that even the trees dared not speak a word to her. Thranduil had warned her. “Your light will fade,” he had said, “if you do not ward it closely, it will slip from you.” “How did you not fade?” she had asked. He had not replied.

 _But would it be so awful to fade?_ , she thought, _to forego all pain. I do not want this pain._ “It was real,” Thranduil had said. But if it was real how could she only recall him in dreams? How could she only see him in dreams? He smiled in dreams. He spoke to her in dreams. He had pressed that stone into her hand in dreams. It must have been in dreams, because she could never imagine such happiness otherwise. _I should have gone with him_ , she thought. But it was an old argument that she always lost. She knew she could not dwell in the past and yet she lived in it nonetheless. All her dreams were in the past, and all her futures, it seemed, lived and died there. She had already mourned all autumn and well into winter. It had felt like mere days. In the lifespan of an elf, the world moved quickly and time was seldom felt. Yet the pain remained ever so fresh, like the dew of this night. Underneath its dark sky, Tauriel only longed for morning. The Gladden Fields would live to their name. Light would return to the world. She would not have to sleep or dream. She would not have to gaze upon stars.

She had once loved the stars, now they mocked her. They did because how else could fate be so cruel?

 _To which star above do I owe this love?_ she asked. _Tell me Elbereth which of your daughters is to blame? Which of you has been so false as to curse me with a love I can’t fulfill, a love I can’t touch, a love so far away. A love you cruelly buried deep within the earth. A love ripped from me before it was ripe. How does one pick the fruit that has yet to be consumed?_

She had not much lived, 600 years were nothing to elves, yet she felt withered with age. How could someone who she merely knew for days provoke such feelings? She wanted to chastise herself. She wanted to break away and return to who she was before. But she had died when he had died. Or at least that part of her had. She had nothing left but a sense of duty. Her last remaining spark was to fulfill a task: protect Middle-Earth and defeat this new evil. Fight. Protect. However that may be done, it seemed Thranduil had been one step ahead when he sent Legolas off. She knew she must follow him. She knew what lay ahead. She would make her way to Lothlorien for safe passage and shelter, and then continue onto through the mountains. Beyond that, she would figure out. _Find Legolas, find the Dunedain. There is work to be done._

She would live many years beyond and all this would be memory. No, she would regard it all as a dream. A sweet, tender dream that had reached its end. She would forget him. His name. His face. His words.

 _Kili._ She remembered.

 _Amrâlimê._ He tugged at her heart. She knew what it meant.


	2. Nightmares

He was awake. This much he felt true. His brother fell beside him. _Fili,_ he screamed. _Fili!_ But no sound came out of his mouth. His brother fell again, now he fell in a pool of blood. Kili cried, tears of sorrow and rage. He struck an orc with all his might. Orc after orc they fell. He was full of rage, full of despair, full of deep sorrow. Every corpse that fell looked like him. _No, these are orcs. Not me,_ he thought. He continued through the battle, the snow falling. Ice tingled his hot skin. He did not feel it, yet she felt her. _No, I heard her name. She called my name. I heard it. I heard it._ And he responded. He went to her and darkness came.

He was awake again. This time in her arms. She cradled him gently. She cried. _That can’t be her. She walks in starlight. She is far away. She’s a star. Stars don’t cry. That I know. I know…_

The memory faded. Darkness descended again.

He woke. Balin’s voice was all he heard. “Still, laddie, still,” he pleaded. “You’re too weak. Stay still.”

He was hot and cold at once. He could not move yet he jerked nonetheless. “My brother,” he said, his mouth dry as he spoke. “My brother…” He asked again with his eyes. He now saw Balin, his hair the winter color of the snow in his dreams. “Gently, laddie. Stay still, stay strong. Stay still,” he only said. But his eyes spoke. They said what he could not.

_No, the snow was no dream. This is the dream. My brother is dead. A nightmare. Wake me up. Wake me up._ But he did not wake, instead Balin brought a strange liquid to his mouth and he fell into a deep sleep.

And he dreamt. He dreamt for hours, it felt. But his dreams were black, lush and full of stars. _She walks in starlight, but I cannot find her. How can she not come to me in dreams? I would come if she asked me. I came to her._ In battle, he had sought her. Bolg had descended upon her. He threw himself at him. They fought. Steel ripped through his flesh. It burned. _No, that must have been a dream. Why will she not come?_

He stirred awake. It was dark like his dreams, but no stars. Only dim embers and the smell of herbs and stone told him where he was. _Erebor, I am safe._

He wanted to speak but it seemed his mouth was dry, so he stirred instead. An old woman came near him. She looked at him with curiosity and nodded. On her hands the similar purple liquor he had drank dripped. She chanted in dwarvish, with a thick accent unknown to him. And as she leaned in to press the liquid into his wound, he smelled the oils in her beard. _Eldermoon. She’s a healer. But I’m not sick. Fili is. He’s wounded. Go to him_ , he thought. _Not me. Him. Ask the starlight to come._ He faded.

He did not dream. He awoke to Balin’s voice. “Laddie,” he said gently. Kili felt the warmth of his hand. He raised his eyes to meet his and spoke weakly. “Balin,” he began “Tell her I’m not sick. Heal Fili. He’s badly wounded. I saw... I saw him.”

Balin smiled and tears filled his eyes. “I will, laddie. Now rest. The worst is past us. Rest.”

* * *

He felt that he had only slept for mere minutes when a crackle woke him. In a fireplace, wood burned, the flames consuming it whole. As he raised his eyes, a black cauldron came into shape and the old wise-woman from his dream tossing herbs into it. The flames flared.

“Eldermoon,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she answered stirring her cauldron. She had an accent he could not recognize. “You’re getting better.”

“I am. It’s only a dream and nothing more,” he said slowly. His mind was spinning.

The wise-woman eyed him and continued stirring. “Nothing more? Hm, perhaps the King should wait before he comes to see you. You are delirious.”

_The King. My uncle._ How had he forgotten?

“He lives? Truly?” he asked. The battle scene was in pieces. He only recalled the snow, its whiteness speckled with crimson, the orcs and their bloodlust, Fili going first to protect him…

“My brother… Is he well?” The wise-woman said nothing. He knew. He knew in that dream and he knew now.

“Give me something to awake,” he said.

“You mean to sleep?” she replied, stopping her stirring.

“No, this is the dream. Let me awake.” He raised himself from his bed. His whole body throbbed with pain. He became acutely aware how much every inch of him still burned.

“You should not do that,” said the wise-woman making no attempt to stop him.

It mattered so little the pain he felt. Tears filled his eyes. Rage filled his heart. “How can I live in a world where my brother perishes, and I still live?”

“How could a mother live in a world where her husband and both her sons perish?” she snapped back.

Kili said nothing. He had forgotten her. His mother. His promise. _Return to me._

“The poor woman. Word has reached her and she’s on her way. Yet she does not know that you live. She hopes you live. She prays you live. But yet you do not want to live, do you?” The wise-woman scoffed at him and went back to her cauldron.

Kili’s tears began to quell. He remained silent, hearing only the flames and the stirring. “I had not thought about her.” he began. “Yet, my heart is broken all the same.”

“Oh, that I cannot heal. I am very skilled, little one, but those wounds I cannot tend,” the wise-woman said bringing him a cup from the cauldron.

“If I drink this, will I sleep?” he asked as she handed him the cup.

“I thought you wish to wake?” the wise-woman teased.

“I no longer know what I wish,” he confessed.

She pulled a chair next to him and stroked her beard in thought. “Oh, but I know, little one. I have watched over you for many moons. You whisper of many things in your sleep. Yet you call for the stars. Tell me, who is this starlight you call for?”

Kili blushed and grew hot. “No one. She does not come,” he replied quickly.

“In dreams? Or in your waking life? Tell me are they that different?” the wise-woman inquired.

“I do not know what is dream or truth anymore. Yet she is not near. I cannot feel her.” As he spoke the words, he regretted them. _Why should I tell this old woman this? Why would she understand? My brother is dead. But she… does she live? She must. She has to._ He trembled yet he asked all the same, “Do you know the woman I speak of?”

“The elf-maiden,” she said with half a smile. “I heard and I saw. I saw she held you in her arms. She would not part from you so easily.”

_It was not a dream. She held me. She came to me. She lives and my life has meaning._ “Is she here? Does she walk within these walls? Tell me.” he began before he could stop. “Has she come to see me?”

“Nay, she has not,” the wise-woman said shaking her head. “She is not here, nor has she come.”

“I must know where she is. Please,” he pleaded.

The wise-woman only shook her head and spoke plainly. “I do not know what became of your elf-maiden. Perhaps she went back to her woods. Or back to her stars.”

“Do not tease, wise-woman. I am in need of her. If she is well then, I am well,” Kili persisted.

“Then, you are well all the same. Drink this up and sleep,” she said pushing the drink closer.

He felt too weak to argue. His mind was foggy, his body burned. Even gripping the drink felt like an immense task. His strength had deserted him. The wise-woman studied his face. She rose, stroking her beard, and walked once again to her cauldron. She began to pluck at her herbs before grasping an item on her table.

“Here, have this, perhaps it will comfort you,” she finally said. She extended to him a soft smooth stone. _Return to me_ , it said. _Return to me_ , he remembered.

“You were holding onto this when you came to me,” she said. “It is a sacred and perhaps it is magic.” Yet as he held the stone, the talisman felt cold. His body soon followed. _Why would I have this? I gave it to her. Why did she return it? Could she not keep the promise? Did she not want it? Does she not love me? Why give it back?_

_This is why she does not come_ , he realized. She had forsaken him. She’ll never come. He gulped down his drink and shut his eyes wishing nothing more than dark, quiet dreams.

The wise-woman’s eyes widened. “I see it pains you to bear it so close. Perhaps the starlight should keep away all the same. Tell me, little one, what is her name?”

The violet drink had taken him, and he could not answer, yet his heart replied all the same. _Tauriel. Her name is Tauriel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That escalated quickly. 
> 
> (also it is insane to me I already have five chapters completed yet I hate editing. But yeah this is the structure. The chapters are either a POV of Tauriel or a POV of Kili. There will be interludes by special guests [hint: one is a dwarf]. But anyway I am back to writing tomorrow and I'll get to editing eventually? )


	3. Over The Woods

_Tauriel,_ the wind whispered. _Tauriel._

It beckoned her back, but her path was forward. _I will not listen to you, forsaken wind_ , she thought. _You pull me back. I shall not return to you._

The wind tugged at her, nonetheless, caressing her hair and chilling her skin. The sky was clear and sunset was approaching. Warm, golden light filled the air yet she could not wait for night fall. She longed for night and dreams, lately. But not stars, those she could do without.

Her journey has thus far been quiet and uneventful. The fields were mostly empty and its desolation was somehow comforting. She felt kindred to their emptiness. Dusk settled in halfway through her trek. She knew she would be approaching Lothlorien soon enough. Tauriel did not know why she had taken this route. It was the fastest way to Dunland in truth, but that was not why she had come. 

_It calls me, Lothlorien calls me. The Lady of the Wood calls me_ , she mused. Perhaps it was not her who was calling but Tauriel, herself, who yearned for her wisdom and words. She was desperate to see her, yet she would not admit it. She had only been a mere hundred years old, practically a child, when she had first visited the mystical woods of Lorien. But, oh how the woods had astounded her. It was like walking through starlight. They were painted in light and utterly beautiful, and yet, she recalled, they had paled to her dear old Greenwood. How odd that such grand beauty could not cast down the splendor of her home. She missed it all the same. But there was nothing left for her there. Just cruel memory and false hopes of what could have been. No, she could not return to Mirkwood. She would become a ghost. _No, I already am one,_ she thought. A ghost walking around desolate fields, a ghost in shadow, beyond the reach of starlight. She would not belong in Lothlorien either. She started to wonder if she would ever belong anywhere.

She was at the entrance of the woods when she left her thoughts. Dusk had subsided and night was in full bloom. Moths replaced butterflies and crickets usurped the birds’ singing. It was dark, lovely, deep, and quiet. She pulled her hood up with a nature of protection. She felt safer in the night, it was true, yet she was always on her guard as a warrior. _Always on edge, always untrusting. I did not trust him,_ she recalled.

And how could have she? He was a dwarf. They’re not to be trusted, she had been taught. She knew very little of them except for what she had been told. Yet the little she had been in the company of the dwarves have proved otherwise. Kind, they were and loyal, too. She had seen how they had not left Kili’s side when he was injured. How they had protected him. _And yet I could not protect him. Death was too quick for me, she thought._ The tears again wanted to come, to make themselves known. She rejected them. Tauriel did not know how she could grieve so much, how so many tears were stored within her. It seemed like an endless rain that threaten to become storm if it was allowed.

 _How can one suffer so much for someone they’ve known for so little?_ Six hundred years she had lived and she had only known him for days, hours even. But in those hours, minutes perhaps, he had settled himself so comfortably in her heart that when he had been ripped away, parts of her heart had been torn along with him. And now those parts were lost forever and her heart remained torn and beaten. An open wound she carried on her chest made by a piece of her soul she did not know had been missing in the first place. How strange love was.

She bequeathed her thoughts and moved through the trees. She was deep in the heart of the forest. She heard a river sing softly in the distance. She was quiet but she knew Galadhrim elves were quieter. _They know I am here. They have let me pass._ She felt relieved. Not that she had doubted that they would, yet as a lowly Silvan Elf her insecurity got the best of her. Who was she who to seek the Lady of Lorien? And she knew that the Lady knew she sought her. _They know it, too. They know who I am and they let me walk through their woods. They know I am no foe. They see my light. A fading one. They pity me._

It was then when an Elf in a soft verdant-colored hood appeared before her. “Tauriel of Mirkwood. Daughter of the Forest, the Lady of the Wood welcomes you,” he said. His Sindarin was rich without any accent. She often chastised herself for her careless slips of Silvan into her speech so she admired those who could speak without. She bowed in respect and replied as solemnly as she could. “She has my thanks and my gratitude. I seek shelter and passage through Lorien.”

“The Lady will be glad to give you what you seek. She will see after you have supped and rested,” he responded. Without another word, he lead her and she followed.

They walked through darkness and wilderness, then light gave way to light. Lothlorien was more beautiful than she remembered. The moonlight hit the tree barks in such a way they turned silver. The houses were immaculate gems entwined on top trees. The Galadhrim elves were more brilliant than she remembered. They greeted her kindly. Their robes were a sea of greens. Diamond-colored leaves filled the sky as stars covered the grass on earth. And the air was filled with hope.

Yet she did not belong. This world was all of light, precious and pure. She was a ghost, a light fading fast. A tiny moth seeking a light she could not touch. _A shadow. I walk between light and star in shadow,_ she thought as she ascended to her chambers.

* * *

Tauriel drank deeply. The water of the Lorien river was refreshing and sweet. She had just finished her meal when the Galadhrim Elf who they called Elwin appeared before her. “The Lady of the Wood awaits your presence,” he said. She nodded and followed.

At the edge of a crystalline river, stood a white temple covered in moonlight. It was magic to behold, for the moon was crescent yet the temple was dappled in light. _The Lady of Lorien brings light everywhere she goes_ , Tauriel mused.

She waited not long before, Galadriel, Lady of the Wood, Light of Lorien, descended. She wore white though she need not. She was so luminous that any color of robe would yield to her light. Gold was her hair, stars were her crown, and rivers of moonlight ran through her gown. Tauriel recalled her last visit when she had only merely had a glimpse of the queen and now she was facing her. She smiled for the Queen shined so bright that gladness had crept into her heart in that instance. She was indeed full of joy when she spoke.

“My Queen. Dear Lady of the Wood, I thank your hospitality and kindness. I thank your people and your woods. And I thank you for seeing me.” And as she finished speaking Tauriel, realized in embarrassment, she had not been spoken to first.

 _Worry not_ , a voice echoed within her, it was the softest Sindarin she ever heard.

The Lady of Lorien smiled and spoke thusly, “Tauriel of Mirkwood, I have been expecting you. You are just in time.”

Tauriel let her blush subside. “In time, my Lady? How can that be? What for?”

“Come,” the Queen gestured, “it is not yet full moon and yet many moons have passed since.”

Tauriel did not understand but came forth. “Many moons since?”

“You have been lost, child. I have seen you. You have been lost but now you’re here and the moon shines upon you,” The Queen said.

“I have indeed been lost, my lady, that I cannot hide. I have been lost and I fear...I fear I am…” She could not say it out loud.

“You fear you are fading,” the Lady of Lorien concluded.

“Yes,” Tauriel answered.

“It is not your time,” The Lady of Lorien replied “Though you have faced sorrow and heartbreak, you will live still. I fear the stars will not let you part so quickly.”

“The stars. I feel them not. My heart is cold. This is a winter that won’t subside,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke.

“Winter has ended,” the Queen said, “and though there are darker times ahead, your winter has ended. Your seeds grow and blossom. Yes, they blossom yet beneath the earth.”

Tauriel did not comprehend. “I do not understand, My Lady. I have planted nothing.”

“Is there truly nothing in the earth that you seek? Something buried deep within its mountain that belongs to you?”

 _She knows_ , Tauriel realized. _Of course_ , the voice echoed.

The Queen merely smiled and took her by the arm. Her touch was gentle yet strong.

“I would say take courage, be strong, if it were needed but need there is not. You have lost nothing. Look to your stars, they do not lie.”

“The stars don’t speak to me as they used to,” she confessed. She had once told Kili she walked there, between the stars, to the holy white light of forever. Now, she could not recall any of that or how it had felt. Tears filled her eyes, despite herself. She lowered her gaze as to not shame the Lady of Lorien.

The Queen did not accept this and tilted her chin up. “Look,” she said. “Look beyond.”

And she looked beyond, to the sky and to the moon. She looked to the moon, its thin crescent ring foretold nothing. Its shape brought no comfort.

“Ask not the moon,” said the Lady of the Wood. “It only watches, rarely does it speak. But heals, yes it does heal. But look to the stars and listen. They are speaking so clearly. The wind beckons you back. Why will you not return home?”

“I cannot. The memories haunt me. The pain drowns me,” Tauriel admitted, her face still wet with tears.

“I understand and yet there is someone who wishes you back. He seeks and you will not come.”

Tauriel’s heart trembled. “Whom is this person you speak of?”

“I do not know,” the Queen answered. “He is lost, it would seem, just as you are. He slips in and out of the world. In dreams he lives with you. I have seen him walk many nights with you.”

 _She speaks of my dreams. She has seen my dreams_ , Tauriel thought.

“I speak of visions. Not quite the same as your dreams, though they are sweet,” The Queen replied.

“Sweet poison is still poison,” Tauriel said letting the last tear fall upon the grass. The Lady of Lorien regarded her quietly.

“Yes, sweetness will not dispel fear. And now you know where I have led you,” she said as they stopped walking.

A large sculpture lay before them. It withheld a silver basin. And the Lady of Lorien held a vase of water.

“The mirror,” Tauriel said almost in a whisper.

“Yes, it foretells all and none. You may look upon it. Yet I fear you may not be ready for what it will say,” the Lady of Lorien said.

“Yet, you will allow me?” she asked.

“Yes,” The Queen replied with a smile.

Tauriel stepped around the basin carefully. “I am afraid of what it will say.”

“It does not speak, child. It only shows,” she replied.

“If I look…if it tells me that all is lost. If it shows me…” Tauriel began. She did not know what she would do. If it showed her doom. A lifetime in the fields of despair. A love lost forever within a light that she could never touch. The world going darker under a new evil. Herself fading into dust.

 _You will not fade_ , the gentle voice whispered. _I have see your light. Its flame kindled. It is guarded closely. A most cherished gem._

Tauriel looked to the Queen, her words were warm and her heart stirred.

“Who guards it closely?” Tauriel asked.

 _Amralime_ , the Lady of Lorien echoed in her head.

 _From beyond he watches over you. From beneath the earth. Is love that strong? Can death not sever it?_ Tauriel asked in her thoughts.

 _Not death. Not death at all,_ the Queen replied.

Tauriel felt tears once again well up in her eyes, but she did not cry. _He is with me beyond death,_ she thought. _I have not lost him. I carry him with me. Like starlight, precious. Pure._

The Lady of Lorien shook her head. “You will not look.”

“No, I will not, my lady,” Tauriel confessed. She need not look in the mirror. She felt a dim glow return to her. A tender hope clung to her breast. She believed her love was with her from beyond and that was enough. _It is far away but not cold and distant, dearest Kili._

“Then you will not know what there is to know,” the Queen said. “Perhaps it is for the best you find out in time.”

“You knew I would not look, my lady?” she asked.

“I knew and yet I hoped. Happy tidings are indeed rare,” the Queen said carefully. “I have said all there is to say to you. We will not speak again till you reunite once again with your beloved, unfortunately. However, too many moons shall not pass till then.”

Tauriel was taken aback. It seemed that until death, only then, would the Lady of Lorien grace her with her presence once again. And many moons till then? Was her death that close? She did not understand. The Lady of Lorien seemed to sense her trepidation for she took Tauriel’s hand and pressed a smooth pebble into it. Her touch filled her with great and sudden hope.

“You have a promise to keep. But you will not return, I fear,” the Lady of Lorien concluded. She then took her leave and disappeared between moonlight and verdant greens.

Tauriel regarded the smooth stone. It was plain yet evoked the feeling of another stone. _A promise to keep?_ Tauriel did not understand. She had kept her promise, he had broken it. _Was it a warning from the Lady of the Wood? Will I not return? Return where? Home? Are Kili and I to meet in death? And if that is so, is that why he is not lost from?_ She welcomed the notion too quickly and it alarmed her. _No, not yet. She said my light will not fade. Not yet._

That night she dreamt not. It was only lush darkness abed with stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was one of the chapters that was really made in the rewrite. I felt I needed to write a couple more Tauriel POVs before I really grasped her character and safe to say I feel I finally captured her. The secret was to write under copious Lana Del Rey which honestly fits Tauriel's frame of mind. Losing love and being depressed? Again very Tauriel. 
> 
> Thank you very much the comments and kudos. I shall return with possibly my favorite Kili chapter I've written thus far. And yes its another cryptic lady telling the hero everything and him understanding nothing. I love my cryptic ladies!


	4. Under The Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pairs best with Roy Orbison's "In Dreams". You're welcome.

In his dreams, a lady of gold, moonstone, and a crown of stars, spoke to him. _She will not return, I fear. She will not come…_

The lady faded as the dream ended. He woke to find himself alone in his chambers. He had been finally moved from the dark room he had habituated for what seemed weeks. His new chamber was more spacious and well-furnished. And the fireplace was modest.

His blinked his eyes, adjusting to the light. The room was brighter than he was accustomed to. The wise-woman entered carrying her usual mixture of herbs. There was a limp in her step, Kili noticed. She eyed him carefully.

“Another dream with your lady of stars?” she asked.

“No. T’was a lady of moon,” Kili confessed with a sigh.

“Of moon? Hm, let me know when a sun-maiden visits you, for that I like to see,” she replied.

Kili smiled lightly, his body still ached but he could smile at least. He now seldom did.

“What news of the outside world?” he asked trying to sit up. The pain swarmed him at once.

“It still hurts, heh?” she noticed. “Not much, the world remains the same. Much like your dreams.”

“I wish I understood what they meant.”

“Hm, perhaps they are visions,” she said sipping something murky. One of her concoctions, it seemed she was always sipping on some strange potion.

His eyes widened. “Are they visions of the future?” he asked.

“Visions and dreams are one and the same. The future, mayhaps. The present, why not? The past, oh yes, the past,” she mused. 

“If this is so…then…then…”

“Oh, hold on, little one. Dreamers often lie.”

“Dreams lie?”

“Nay, dreams do not, but dreamers do. In dreams they dream dreams to be true, but they only see what they want to see,” she warned.

_But if I am seeing what I want to see, why don’t I see her?_ Kili thought.

The woman burped. The wise-woman who was called Mab seemed to be her own world altogether if truth be told. Yet he often found solace speaking to her. She spoke again, “I forget to tell you, the King is coming to see you.”

His uncle. _Finally,_ Kili thought.

Mab told him his uncle often visited him while he slept. He watched over him dutifully, but the King still felt his nephew too weak to entertain visits. _The King. He’s a king now. And I’m the prince. The rightful prince. No, that was Fili. Not me. This is all wrong._

“He is not wrong,” Mab said stoking the flames in the fireplace. “Your uncle. You are fit for visits. Excitements are entirely different.”

“I wish to see everyone,” he said. “I miss them all.”

He missed Balin and Dwalin. Oin and Gloin. Nori, Ori, and even Dori. Bifur and Bofur, of course. And even Bombur, he wondered how fat he had gotten since the last time he saw him… _How long have I been here?_

“True, you have lived in solitude for a while now. If the Maker wanted us to live alone, he would have only made one dwarf.”

_But I am alone. I am alone in the world. I have no brother_ , he thought.

“Your brothers will visit you in time.” Mab continued. “When you are stronger, of course. Your strength will return, little one.”

His strength. He could only walk a few steps and held a fork with remarkable difficulty. How would he ever run or hold an axe again? He would rather die than live without that. He was living without so much already. Mab said nothing but rather watched him carefully. It seemed she read his thoughts sometimes. Yet she did not mention anything of the sort, she instead excused herself. The King would arrive soon.

After she left, he awaited only few minutes before he heard footsteps at the door. And from the door emerged, King Thorin, Son of Thrain, the King Under the Mountain. He was truly a king, with thick furs and a heavy crown, fierce to behold, yet his gaze softened when his eyes met Kili’s.

“My sister-son!” he cried embracing his nephew.

He tilted his head and their foreheads kissed. Tears streamed down Kili’s face as his uncle stroked his face.

“I did not think you would live, I confess. It is a miracle. Mahal be blessed!” Thorin cried.

“I did not think I would see you, again.” Kili replied. “I feared for us all. And while it gladdens my heart to see you, I am not whole.”

The King nodded with fresh tears. “Yes, I have, too, mourned your brother many moons. I sometimes wish that it is me that Mahal had taken instead. Dis has suffered so much! I feel I have some blame. And yet now she sobs with joy and is only days away from us, for her younger son lives yet!”

“My mother,” Kili echoed. “I would like to see her. I have kept my promise to her, may she forgive me for the rest.”

“Yes, she will forgive all, my dear sister-son! Your spared life has been the most precious gift ever bestowed to her. She wrote to me, ‘Thorin, the entirety of Erebor’s treasures could not give me a fairer gift. I need no gems when my son lives.’ And yet I was cautious when I wrote to her. How to tell my dear sisters her son was between life and death? And yet you remained there for months. Slipping in and out of dreams and death. I feared the worst and dared not write until the wise-woman advised me so.”

His uncle looked at him intently.

“Kili, your face warms my heart,” he said. “Yes, I have watched you many nights from afar as to not disturb you for you were very weak. But now I see strength return to you and strength returns to me. Erebor grows stronger with each breathe you take, my dear prince.”

_Prince. There it is again._

“No, Fili…he was supposed to be that,” Kili said weakly.

“Nay, my sister-son. It _is_ dark times for this has befallen you. I had not foreseen this future, yet it has come regardless. Believe it is the Maker’s will,” Thorin said.

Kili sighed. “I do not believe. Uncle, I still dare hope it is all but a dream.”

“A dream? A good dream, I hope,” the King answered. “For we live and Fili would give all for his little brother to survive. He loved you dearly and fiercely. Do not throw this precious gift of life for he would not want it so.”

_He speaks truly_ , Kili realized.

“Nay, he would not. I will live for my brother and my mother. I will honor them both. And you, my King.” And as he said this, Kili bowed his head. The King smiled.

“You are brave and I am honored to call you my sister-son,” he replied.

“When will I be able to see the company?” Kili asked.

Thorin snickered, “Well, they are as eager as you are. Don’t you hear them?”

A shuffling was heard outside the door, followed briefly by muffled talking. Then the scuttering of feet and the sound was fast gone. Yet for all, he made out which step belonged to whom.

“I told them you were not well enough. They promised to wait. Yet the promise did not consist of not listening outside your door,” Thorin explained.

Kili smiled. “I too long for them.” _And I long for something else. Something farther away._

“Tell me, Uncle,” he said carefully, “how is it that I got injured?”

“I was not there, in truth,” Thorin began. “I was away facing the wretched Azog. I defeated him. I killed him and it appeared he killed me. That was when Bilbo—Master Baggins found me. He called for help and I was nursed back to health. I was as far as gone as you. I was unconscious for weeks...”

“Master Baggins! Is he well?”

Thorin smiled weakly. “Yes, I believe he is. He has returned to Bag End to plant his trees. I gave him a gift. He is now far away…”

The King’s gaze left his nephew, he seemed to stare beyond the walls of the chamber. His gaze lost between time and space.

“Uncle?” he asked.

“Yes, he is far away now for when I awoke he was gone,” the King continued. “I was told of your wound and how your life hanged by a thread. Balin, in truth, did not believe you would survive half a fortnight.”

“Yet I did and Fili did not,” Kili mused.

“Yes. Fili was dead, Balin told me. And you. You were dead as well,” Thorin said. “The elf…”

Kili’s heart raced. _Her._

“The elf held onto you, I was told. She was generous and wept in your death,” the King said. “They were going to bury you in grief. But it was Balin who noticed your soft breathes. Tiny, they were, he said. A corpse’s farce, the others protested. Yet he believed and no one did. He persuaded the others and called for Mab, the greatest wise-woman in the land. He believed Mahal had spared you and he did.”

Thorin looked at his nephew with both sadness and pride. “And I am grateful,” he said as he sat next to him.

“Yes, but the elf-maiden. What became of her? Where is she now?”

The King’s face grew stern. “Why do you ask? I do not know. I have not seen her since Mirkwood.”

“But she was there in the battle. She was there with me,” Kili protested.

“Yes, so I have been told.”

“Then? How can you not know? Does she know of me? Does she know that I live?”

“What difference would that make, nephew?”

_All the difference in the world. I will keep my promise to her._ “It would mean very much to me if she knew I was alive. She cared for me. She saved me,” he managed to say. He had to be careful with his words, his Uncle would not take kindly to them.

“Well, I did write to her in gratitude. I wrote to her when I wrote to Dis. Bofur urged me to do so, I do not know why. But I received no reply. It is only last night that I received word that she had left to follow her prince.”

_The elf with the silver hair_ , Kili recalled.

“Follow her prince?” he asked.

“Yes, it seems Thranduil’s son has taken to the west in pursuit of a certain Dunedain. I am unsure of the reasons behind it, but the elf-maiden has followed his liege,” Thorin concluded.

_Followed him? For what purpose? She knows that I live and yet she follows another one? She does not come to me but instead goes West? Do I mean so little to her?_ Kili stirred, his body ached but not much as his heart did.

“Careful, Kili, you mustn’t overstrain yourself,” his uncle warned. “You are still very weak.”

“I care not. Let me be, uncle, I am tired and long to sleep,” he said abruptly.

The King nodded. “Very well, I have worn you out and yet I am happy to have talked to you. It has been lifetimes since then.”

He rose from the bed and spoke his final words. “Sleep well, my sister-son. Mahal will soon return your strength.”

Kili weakly smiled in return and the King left the room. Once gone, his thoughts invaded him, a thousand tiny knives all at once. _She will never come, now I know. The white lady spoke truly. I mean so little to her. It was all words and dreams. Silly dreams. How could I be so stupid to believe such things?_

“You must believe.”

Kili looked up and saw Mab entering the room. She was munching on what seemed to be nuts.

“What the King said, you must believe,” she said. “Mahal will soon return your strength. He watches over you.”

“You both say Mahal has blessed me, but I feel cursed,” Kili confessed. “I am certain I am the most wretched Dwarf on earth.”

“Wretched, heh? Yes, you are now that I see you.” She smiled at him, a grin missing a few teeth and full of nut pieces.

“You mock me, wise-woman,” Kili grunted.

“No, but I do not. I speak truth. Mahal watches over you, why he returned you to Arda. Your King does not know but I know. You died, little one. You returned to the Maker. Yes, you did, I saw. He took your body and was ready make you into soft stone. But then he did not. I do not know why but I know he did. He breathed life back into you. For what purpose I do not know.”

The wise-woman spoke so certain that Kili shivered.

“Was I truly dead and did you see the Maker himself?” he managed to ask.

“Yes, I did. A true dream, I saw. He returned you to me. I did not have to fight. He said, ‘Mab, take this little one for he does not belong to me. Heal him. Bring his body back from stone.’ And I did the Maker’s work. Yes, I did.”

“A dream, you said. A dream,” Kili said.

“Oh no, a vision. Like your elf-maiden. Yes, she is lost, isn’t she?”

“Mab!” Kili realized. “You said you saw her holding me in the battlefield, but you were not there. Did you truly see her?”

“Yes, and I have seen her many times since.”

“In your visions?”

“No, in your dreams.”

Kili face fell. _In my dreams? She is mad and she talks nonsense._

“Yes, in your dreams. The elf-maiden of autumn-colored hair and eyes of verdant green. She is lost. Walking in shadow between stars. Beneath a crescent moon…”

“Tauriel! How can you see her in my dreams, but I do not?”

“Because, little one, I can see what others do not,” she admitted.

“Mab, are you a witch?”

“Mayhaps. It seems to me all wise-women are.”

“Then tell me of Tauriel. What do you see of her?”

“She goes West away from you.”

Kili grunted. “That I know.”

“She seeks her silver prince. To find him is her purpose.”

“That I also know,” he grumbled.

“But you do not know how much she mourns.”

“Why does she mourn?” Kili said, his heart racing.

“Why, she is far away from whom she loves most in the world. She seeks him and cannot find him. Unhappier creature you will not find,” Mab said.

“Does she miss her prince so much?” he asked bitterly.

“Aye, she misses her prince,” Mab concluded.

Kili felt a sharp pain in his heart. _Was it ever so hopeless?_

“Oh, little one, but I tell you dreams. And you must remember dreamers often lie.”

“Then you are lying,” Kili growled.

“No, little one, you are lying,” she said with a smile. “You’re only seeing what you want to see. A dreamer you are.”

Kili did not understand.

“It is past time you slept,” she said. “Every night, the moon restores your body. It strengthens it just as the herb does.” She handed him a cup of Eldermoon and he drank.

She said nothing else and left the room as the embers in the fire grew dim. Kili tossed in his bed. _Yes, I am a dreamer. I dreamt an elf-maiden could love me. I dreamt the starlight could hold me. I dreamt my brother would live. I have been dreaming too long. It is time I wake up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galadriel and Mab said CRYPTIC WITCHES RIGHTS!!! I absolutely love they literally tell Tauriel and Kili EXACTLY the truth and they're still like "???". This has been thus far the Kili chapter I have most enjoyed writing. I hope you are all enjoying the story!


	5. Same Moon

Tauriel did not want to wake up.

Her dream was sweet and strange. Kili had been with her. He had been grey and melancholic, yet she had held him, nonetheless. A witch with purple hair had watched them with laughing eyes. _The farther away I go, the stranger my dreams become_ , she mused upon awakening.

The first light of day was upon her and it lacked for warmth. The wind provided less comfort, for it was wild and tempered. Still, she managed to collect her camp before the sun had fully risen. Her pack was light, carrying only water from the Lothlorien river, Lembas bread, and some silver silk the Lady of the Wood had gifted her. There was no explanation for the gift. The Galadhrim elves had said the Queen only asked she wore it to see the king. Tauriel did not know who was this king she spoke of for she knew very few, nevertheless the silk was pretty. It was a silk of pure white that shined silver in the light, it was beautiful but of little use. She was much more grateful for the food and water.

She hurried along her jagged path. She had a while to go before she would reach the summit of the Misty Mountains and daylight was precious. The climb would be steep and the air would grow cold the higher she rose. She had not eaten for she now seldom ate in the morrow. She knew her strength would carry her well into noon. She had taken an empty road through the Misty Mountains and it had been proven safe thus far. She was careful to avoid both orcs and dwarves, though the latter would be most dangerous. Moria, as far as she was, was still a territory of war between the two races. And although she belonged to neither camp, her presence would not be welcomed by either. She climbed quickly and quietly. The task suited her well, although it was not her beloved trees in Mirkwood, the rocks bared some similarity in its sturdiness, although less forgiving. If one fell from the tree, it would be painful. To fall from a cliff, however, was fatal. 

_It would be so fatal to fall?,_ Tauriel wondered. Such thoughts came to her now and then. Such dark thoughts she let pass. In truth, her strange dream gnawed at her. She had wished to see Kili smiling in her dreams. Yes, smiling and teasing, that’s how she remembered him. But lately he had grown sour in her dreams _. He reflects the darkness that grows within me. His memory grows dark as I grow unsure,_ she thought _._ And yet how could she not? For even the Lady of Lorien had told her somber words. _“You will not return.” She said that to me. And yet she also promised my light would not fade. Could both things be true? I feel like Fëanor, he who is gifted by fire but is also consumed by it. Am I to be saved by light but also be destroyed by it?_

She reckoned both could be true, anything was possible now. She never imagined she would fall in love with a dwarf, much less to be shattered by love at such a young age. Tauriel always liked the stories of the tragic elf-maidens in the songs. Sad were their lives, but also ripe in beauty. Before, she had a sense of longing for the ancient world she never knew, but now she loved it not. The loss of a lover was deeply unbearable, even one you never truly loved at all. For she had loved him, yes, but from afar and their love had remained unconsumed. It was not any less real, but, still, it lacked the fervor the stories had. For all the great lovers had time to be with each other. Time was something perhaps elves took for granted. Had Kili lived, her time with him would have been brief. She had never thought about this and it pierced her heart at once. The banality of it all, of how limited his time on Arda was promised, for dwarves did not live long. She blamed Aulë for perhaps had he not been so bold Eru would have fashioned dwarves same as elves and allowed them to live just as long. But this was not so, for dwarves were fashioned from hammer and stone, not born under darkness and stars like elves. When she died in battle or injury, she knew her spirit would go to Mandos and then return once more. But Kili?

_Where do dwarves go? Do they turn into stone? Is he in the mountain now? Is that what the Lady of Lorien meant to tell me?_ The thought made her want to weep. Whenever she passed, whenever her time came, she would ascend and leave him behind. He would remain in Middle Earth for evermore, apart from her for eternity. _No,_ Tauriel thought _. This is not so because he watches over me_. _The Lady told me_. _No matter how far apart we are…even in death, we are still together. Kili and I, we have not left each other._ The thought was comforting yet still sad, nonetheless. They were together and apart at the same time. Two stars never quite connecting, like the moon and the sun. And for a moment, she pitied Tilion and Arien more than she did herself. For although it was miserable to be unable to touch whom you loved so dearly, more wretched was to spend centuries doing the dance of coming so close but always missing.

* * *

Noon was well past when she broke for diner. She ate lembas and a bit of water from the river of Lothlorien. It sufficed her hunger well enough and she decided to just sit for a while. She was hardly tired from the climb, but she could not deny the impossibility of reaching the top before sunset. _It will take another day to go down the mountain. Perhaps I should have taken the high pass. Would that Legolas come with me for he would know._ Yes, her prince often knew. And it wasn’t so much that he knew but that they often figured these things out together. Where she was reckless, he was wise. Where he was cautious, she was bold. In truth, she felt rather incomplete without her brother. She wondered if he missed her all the same. He had left in sudden urgency and she wondered if Kili had anything to do with it. Thranduil saw their bond as a one-sided attraction on Legolas’ part, but she felt differently. Did Legolas also feel differently or did he truly, as her father assessed, loved her? He had never given her any inclination of such a notion. He only expressed warmth to her in a brotherly fashion and the most affection she gave her were kind words. She felt her bond deep and strong like the river, flowing and moving but always constant. And he had never shown any attraction to other elf-maidens either. This perhaps confirmed an attachment to her, but to Tauriel it showed he rather lacked any romantic interest.

_Am I wrong in this?,_ she wondered _. Was I blind in his affections as I am blind to my own heart? To go to him only completes half of my heart, the one that longs for the familiar, for the comfort of it. The other half is scattered somewhere in the wind. That one longs for what it does not have and cannot have. Who knows where he is._ A sudden breeze ran its fingers through her hair, almost like a lover would. It was a wind moving east and pulling her gaze towards the Lonely Mountain. She could not go back, she knew. She had come too far and there were things to do besides dwelling in memory. And the wind left her as fast as he had come.

Tauriel took another gulp of water and continued west up the mountain. If Eru was kind she would reach the peak after nightfall. And if he was incredibly benevolent, she would encounter not a friend or foe.

* * *

The moon was full in the sky when the first drop of sweat touched her brow. _The air grows colder yet I grow hot,_ Tauriel thought. She had been climbing all day, it was natural her body, as immortal as it may be, began to feel a toil. _I cannot rest yet, there is still a couple miles to go_ , she protested. Yet her body cared not, it grew weary and weak the higher she went.

Wishing to find solace somewhere, she looked to the stars for comfort. There were none, it was dark but for a radiant moon that looked sweetly down upon her. _Ithil shines brightly tonight. Tilion guides it well, but he mourns for he is so far from Arien,_ she thought with a forlorn smile. She had wished for stars, but the moon would suffice.

She suddenly remembered that Kili had spoken to her about a moon. She tried to recall the name of it, but the arrow came to her first. It missed her but by a few inches. The moonlight allowed her to see the arrow in its full length and coloring. _Orcs._

And as she turned, she saw them. They descended upon her with arrows and axes, but she was faster. Two arrows hit the first orc, and the third finished up the second. Three orcs still remained, and they came screaming. Their speech was fowl and she wished not to make out the words. She need not words in fighting. Her knives screeched when they kissed the blade of the fourth orc. And with another kiss, she plunged her knife into his gut. The fifth orc came, raging with a large axe. She ducked and grasped for the fourth orc’s blade. It was not sharp enough to her taste, but it did the deed wonderfully, his head came right off. The fifth was slower and he held a bulkier axe. She had time to make some distance between them. A clean shot would be the easiest way to end him. But before she could attempt such a thing, the fourth orc came bloody and raging. He managed to scrape her arm and she recoiled in return. Her knife was quick and ripped through him one last time. The fifth orc’s giant axe was upon her before she could savor her victory. She jumped and climbed up a cliff. He could not follow for long before she finally pulled her arrow and secured her shot. The arrow hit his head and his axe came tumbling down. The orc hit the ground.

Tauriel caught her breathe. _Fire Moon,_ she recalled. _He called it a Fire Moon._

Her thought was interrupted by a short scoff. She looked up and saw him drenched in silver moonlight. “It took you awhile. I fear you have gotten slower,” her prince said.

Tauriel smiled. “My friend,” she said in their language, her coarse Silvan accent and all. Legolas grinned. “And now you’re being boorish,” he teased. Tauriel wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Had you no intention of joining in?”

“No, I know how peevish you are when you’re in battle,” he confessed.

“You know me well, dear friend.”

Legolas climbed down and greeted her. Embracing him felt nice yet he was a bit thinner than she remembered. But perhaps she was too.

“What are you doing so far from home?” he asked.

“Far from home?” she said still catching her breathe. “I am following you.”

“I know, my father told me you sought me. I decided to meet you half away.”

“Kind of you, my lord,” she said with a smile. Before Legolas could respond, she squirmed from pain.

“Your arm. It’s injured,” Legolas observed. “Come, let’s sit. What has become of you, Tauriel?”

* * *

Tauriel finished her tale right where the Lady of the Lorien had left her. “I am surprised you did not look in the mirror,” Legolas replied at last tying the wrap around her wound. “I figured you would. It is of your nature to do such things.”

“Of my nature?” Tauriel scoffed. “Yet perhaps you are right. I am too hot-headed sometimes.”

“Hot-headed? No. Rash, yes. Impulsive, maybe. Dedicated, definitely. Loyal, most certainly,” he said smiling at her. 

“I thank your kind words,” she said suddenly feeling unease. She remembered her thoughts about Legolas’ feelings and Thranduil’s own warning. Did he truly harbor romantic affections towards her? “And yet you left too soon. Without sparing a kind word,” Tauriel began. “To me, your most loyal friend.”

“Yes, Tauriel, I left. But I did not part without grief, it hurt me to leave you in such a state, but it would have hurt me more deeply to remain near you. I was jealous. Yes, I confess.”

Tauriel swallowed at the admission yet Legolas continued.

“And I was confused. I thought what my father had said was true. That perhaps I may indeed harbor love beyond the brotherly kind towards you. I had to leave and figure out what I felt, for you, my dearest friend,” Legolas said looking at her most intently. “I love you well, I confess. But I love you well as my dearest sister. I felt jealous of your affections towards the dwarf, it’s true. Perhaps jealous to have some of your love be taken away from me. And more confusion than anything else. I still confess it astounds me that you possess such a regard for such a lowly creature. I do not wish to offend you in this admission, my friend.”

“I will not take offense at your admission,” Tauriel responded solemnly.

“Well, then, I also confess I have never regarded other maids as much as I regard you. And perhaps that confused me even more. But now I understand my affections and feelings for you most thoroughly. And I am glad to have you in my company once more. Your presence brings joy to my heart,” he finished.

Tauriel smiled at her brother, yet she still felt unease. “And you do not regard me mad for loving such a lowly creature, in your mind?”

Legolas shook his head, deep in thought. “In truth, I do not fully understand the matters of the heart. It is beyond strange to me that you would give your heart away to such a creature. Dwarves and elves have never been friends, we are but strangers to each other. We are not made of the same matter or by the same entity. They are shaped by stone and looked to it as their own, children of Aule they are. We look to the stars, we are children of Ilúvatar. It is not natural.”

Tauriel looked away.

“I hope my words did not offend,” Legolas said. “I only meant to express my thoughts.”

She did not respond but rather looked up to the sky.

“But it is so unnatural?” Tauriel mused. “We are born from the same music, for everything comes from the music of the Ainur, does it not? Yes, we are children of Ilúvatar, but so is Aulë. And he belongs to the stars just as much as we do. We all walk Arda. We all breathe the same breathe, we all regard the same moon.”

Legolas, too, looked up. “Oh, yes the moon. It will be full soon.”

“Yes,” she said, “a Fire Moon as I heard it be called once.”

“Fire Moon?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Tauriel. “The last full moon of winter, foretelling Spring. The dwarves call it by that name, and yet whatever we may call it, it will remain the same moon when we watch it.”

_A Fire Moon,_ she thought once more. _You said you wish you could show it to me. And how I wish you did. How I wish I had seen it with you. How I wish I had done everything on Arda with you. But I shall see it soon. And perhaps from above you shall see it. Or from below. Tell me, Kili, where will you watch your Fire Moon from?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad chapter but [here's](https://barduilotp.tumblr.com/post/119482197091/oh-kili) a sweet meme to go with it.


	6. New Stars

He regarded the Fire Moon with little joy.

 _The same one as the year before_ , he thought _. Same moon yet I am not the same._ The moon was high in the sky, it glowed with orange and gold. It was beautiful and yet its beauty was lost on him. In truth, it bothered him. He gritted his teeth as he looked at it _. I do not wish to see moons. I wish to see stars. The night has hidden all the stars._

“Isn’t it a beauty?” Dwalin asked pulling Kili into a hug and soaking him with ale. His grip was stronger than he remembered.

Kili smiled thinly, “Yes, it is.”

Dwalin studied him. He then grinned, his eyes brimming with tears. “Oh, I did not think you would make it. But here you are, my lad! To Mahal!” Dwalin then drank deeply though it did little for him, he was already very drunk.

“For Mahal’s sake, leave the boy alone,” Balin interjected, pushing the other dwarf aside. “Can’t you see he can barely stand?”

Balin had meant no harm by his words, yet they still bruised a little. He was walking fine now. He did need a walking stick, but nevertheless he walked. So much so that he now could travel through Erebor without any assistance. Kili considered it a great accomplishment since his dizzy spells still persisted. And, yes, it did pain him to stand for so long, but the real discomfort was the pity he felt from the other dwarves. He wanted to remain pleasant however, so he said nothing and only smiled. He had been doing only that as of late.

Oin, who had been sitting and drinking, kindly protested. “Ah, now let your brother be! The boy is well enough. Strong as one of Dain’s rams, I’d say!”

“I don’t reckon I can climb up a mountain quite yet,” Kili replied, “but I’ll get there.”

“Laddie, just having you here with us is a gift,” Balin said. The other dwarves around the table agreed. Such was their glee that they rose their drinks and toasted on his behalf. They all had been very gracious with him. Bifur had been the one who fashioned Kili’s walking stick, saying it was not much different to a toy. Dori and Nori had often gone to his chambers to play him some music to past the time. Bofur and Bombur had often supped with him when he was still bed-ridden. And Ori had been the one to accompany him when he had finally been strong enough to start walking again. And yet joining them for the Fire Moon celebrations had felt like a farce. He cared not for the moon, drinking brought him little to no joy, and the bombastic music hurt his ears. To make matters worse, it was past the time he was accustomed to go to bed and he had to admit his fatigue.

And yet he gazed at the moon over and over again, wishing to see stars and scolding himself for it. _Why do I still cling to stars?,_ he wondered. _The last one I loved deserted me. I have bled for my star._ Such thoughts made him bitter and resentful of the world. Even his friends seemed foul when he was in one of his moods. He had to leave.

“My friends,” he began as gently as he could. “I am grateful for your companionship tonight, but I must retire...”

“Retire?” Bofur asked incredulously. He was also rather drunk. “Why Kili, you only have had two ales and one whole plate of meat and bread. No cheese.”

“Terrible,” Bombur agreed as he dug into his third plate.

“At least have another ale and more food, laddie,” Balin added.

Kili shook his head. “No, I am exhausted. I insist.”

Balin only sighed. “Very well, if you are tired then by all means.”

“We will miss you,” Gloin added while he drank his ale.

“Certainly, we will!” Bofur yelled as he and Dwalin took up dancing. Both drunk with glee and merriment. Nori soon joined them with his flute. It was a happy scene to witness, yet Kili found no joy in it. “I wish you a good evening, friends,” he said plainly.

Ori interjected him. “You sure you don’t want me to walk to your room, Kili?”

“ _No,_ ” he said. He didn’t need his help and he was tired of being offered it. He had not realized how strongly he had spoken until he saw everyone staring at him.

Balin eyed him carefully, but Dori was the one to speak. “Ori does not mean any offense by it. We all know you are well enough. He only wants to be helpful.”

“Yes, I didn’t mean to offend you, Kili,” Ori added quickly.

“You didn’t,” he grumbled. He didn’t want to deal with the others any longer for lately any provocations kindled his temper. He left before they could say anything else.

* * *

It was not a quiet walk back to his chambers. The Fire Moon was a sacred omen to dwarves, and it seemed every dwarf in Middle Earth was at Erebor tonight. The mountain was bursting with so much music and laughter that it does not seem like the Lonely Mountain any longer. _Only me, I am the loneliest mountain,_ Kili mused.

There had been other feasts and banquets which he had had to attend. Kili, as the new prince of Erebor, had had to be present in the formal ceremonial banquet in Thorin’s hall. He had dined and drank a little, as it was customary for the prince to do so. He had loathed the whole affair but had been comforted by the king’s promise. Thorin had graciously allowed him to slip away to join the Company after his duties. Seeing them usually made him happy but everything was gnawing at him of late. Even his short stay with them had been rough to endure. He looked at the moon, once more. It was said the redder the Fire Moon, the more prosperous the summer. This moon had more of an orange shade. _Like her hair_ , he thought. _No orange like the sun._ He wondered what an orange moon foretold. Thorin found it to be a good omen, foretelling a coming of their great new kingdom. Kili found it to be an ugly orange glow in the sky, a glow which had obscured all possibility of stargazing. He could not look at the sky any longer and he entered the mountain swiftly.

He was just walking into hall towards his chambers when he ran into Mab. He was surprised that the witch was not drunk as everyone but rather sober. Even perhaps more sober than she usually seemed to be. “Little prince,” she said, still smelling of strange herbs, “I was just bringing your nightly drink.”

“Mab! Tell me, what does an orange Fire Moon foretell?” he asked.

Mab went deep in thought and began to ponder. They walked along each other, it was easy for the wise-woman’s pace was slow and easy to keep up with.

“Hm, orange how? Colors are rather important in magic,” Mab said.

“You know orange like the sun,” he said. “Like autumn. Like auburn hair.”

“Like auburn hair? Hm, it seems you were looking for stars and not a moon?” she said slyly.

“No, I no longer seek stars. I grasped for one and I fell in the attempt,” he confessed.

“You have given up on your starlight entirely?” Mab asked astounded.

“I had planned to seek her, it’s true,” he began. “But I inquired the King. I asked my uncle once again the possibility that perhaps, by some strange act of chance, the letter written to her had been lost. But it was not lost. You see, my uncle, wanted to spare my feelings. She wrote him back…”

Even the memory of it hurt. It was when he had started to walk. Kili had begged Ori to walk him to Thorin’s chambers even though the King had explicitly asked not to be disturbed. Once there, Kili had pleaded with his uncle for more information. And after a good while, Thorin finally gave in and handed him the letter.

“I had wanted to spare you, my sister-son. But it seems you are too determined in your infatuations,” the King had said.

It was not a letter, really, but rather a scrap of paper. Still Kili clung to it, drinking every word as if it was water and he was cursed with an unmeasurable thirst. Yet the letter quenched him not for its words were dry. It read: 

_Your Majesty,_

_Your gratitude is not needed. It was duty and kindness that moved me to such a deed. I grieve the death of your nephew and wish his brother, the new prince, a most prosperous recovery._

_Tauriel_

It was all it said. The words not only stung but burned him whole. His heart had been punctured by _duty_ , impaled by _kindness_ , and finally ripped to shreds by _a most prosperous recovery_. It would have been less painful had she pierced him with an arrow. It was obvious to him, then. She did not love him. Not once. Not ever.

He did not know how he had not broken in tears at the moment he read it, he later concluded that he had been in shock. The King had been rather pleased by his subdued reaction. Kili had only apologized to his uncle for his indiscretion and had walked to his room accompanied by Ori in silence. Only once in his chambers had he cried most bitterly. He did not know how his sobs had not echoed through the Lonely Mountain, or perhaps they had.

“Oh, that I know,” Mab said interrupting his thoughts.

“The letter? I did not tell you about it,” Kili protested. _How much does this witch know?_

The thought she should have any introspection into his life angered him. “Then? Why do you ask what you already know?” he asked annoyed.

“Know? Oh, yes, I know many things. But you know very little. Don’t forget, little one, dreamers often lie. And you’re a dreamer,” she added.

“I still don’t know what that means.”

“Matters not. But yes, let’s see, an orange Fire Moon foretells a passionate romance to bloom,” Mab said.

Kili was incredulous and Mab seemed to sense it for she continued. “Nothing to do with stars, for sure, for I know many of the Longbeards and Stiffbeards have girls and fathers trying to make prosperous matches.”

He only grunted. Thorin had not so carefully hinted at it and Kili had thoroughly ignored it. He knew a match was a natural step for a prince, but the idea filled him with disgust.

Nevertheless, Mab insisted, gripping him by the arm. “Come on, little one, a good dwarven girl would do you good! She could be your moon-maiden or sun-princess! She could be your new star! How about a new starlight?”

Anger took him. He stopped walking and jerked his arm away from her. Before he could think he said the words. “Do not say that. I could not. I could never replace Tauriel.”

Mab did not take offense but only laughed. “See, I knew you would not give up on your stars.”

He said nothing to her, neither wishing her a good evening or a good night. He merely took his drink and shut the door of his chambers in her face instead.

* * *

Kili tugged at his robes. He looked ridiculous, grey had never really been his color. But Thorin had insisted it was a princely color and it would go with the silver of his crown. He was already pale from lack of sleep and sunlight, the lack of color did not help. But he supposed he should try to look princely enough. Lately, he cared very little for his appearance. To make matters worse, his mood was sour. It seemed every day his mood was sour, but there was always something to blame. Right now, it was Mab. That old witch had overstepped her bounds the other night. _She’s only a wise-woman, not my friend,_ he thought. _She knows nothing. She’s not my mother…_

His mother. He would see his mother soon enough. What would she think to see him like that? Would she like his princely robes? Would she also agree grey looked disastrous on him? Would she weep to see him so weak? Would she ask about Fili? _Fili. She already knows_ , he remembered. Thorin had told her. _She’s a princess now. She always was but now she truly is one. And I’m a prince._ He looked in the mirror. He looked thin and frail. He was grey and sour. Unhappiness clung to him just as his lush robes did. And though he wore a silver crown, he did not look the part.

 _I am no silver prince,_ he confessed. Still his duty was to be done. He walked out his room and into the halls of Erebor. It was a ceremony that needed to be performed and he would play the part as best as he could.

The great hall was lit so brightly it seemed to be set ablaze. Gold hung on every wall, the floors gleamed with cooper, and the banners were dappled in yellow fire. And in the midst of the grandeur was the King. Thick furs adorned his body. His black beard was beautifully braided. And on his head a crown of heavy gold. Thorin was what a king should be. He felt pride to see his uncle like this. He felt pride and disappointment. _He was born to do this_ , Kili thought. _I am not._ He still felt awkward as ever in his silver robes, yet everyone had commended him on his appearance. Gloin had even said, “There goes the Prince Under the Mountain at last.” Kili had even foregone his walking stick for the act. _I just have to stand for an hour. I will be fine,_ he had thought. He was not.

The ceremony dragged over an hour, between presentations, divisions of titles among Longbeards and other folks of the Lonely Mountain, it was long and tedious. His legs ached as well as his body, it seemed the toil was great without his cane. He grew restless and bitter under such distress. Still he looked to his uncle for strength for King Thorin seemed as happy and cheerful as ever. It seemed the mundanities of royal life did not touch him. _He is proud_ , Kili thought. _He has fought hard for this. For us._ And just as the thought came, his mother appeared.

“Princess Dís, Daughter of Thrain!”, she was announced. And a princess she was. She wore a lavender gown lined with fur and a crown of bronze. Her beard was longer than he remembered and braided with gems. She looked much like his uncle. Same deep blue eyes, same dark hair. Yet there was something wild and hardy about her that Thorin did not quite possess. Her mother seldom did cry but when she saw Kili, her eyes filled with tears. And his did the same.

“My little one,” she said embracing him at once. She was warm and felt like home _. I have missed home_ , he thought. And when she pulled away, she only did so to return once again to kiss his forehead with hers. Tears still ran through her cheeks. “You kept your promise,” his mother said.

“I did,” he said his voice breaking. “I didn’t think I would, but I did.”

* * *

They feasted and they danced well. Even his legs had not pained while dancing with his mother. He was but happy for an hour for as soon as the music subsided, and the halls darken so did his mood. His mother seemed to take notice but ignored it in favor of doting on him. She spoke much to the company and they all relayed stories of both Kili’s and Fili’s bravery and strength. Of their follies, they also spoke. The stories drove Dís to smile, wince, sigh, and at last, laugh. She thanked them all heartily and even spoke to Mab, who seemed gracious to her. Kili did not speak to Mab or even regard her for he was still upset at her words. His mother also spent much time with uncle, speaking to him, often in private and away from Kili’s ears. Yet they spent much of the evening together and he remembered how much he enjoyed her company. She played her royal role quite well for she greeted all the lords by name. And every time she seemed to pull Kili along, encouraging to speak and talk. He said very little, though, and she had appeared to be content with it. However, once they wore alone in his chambers. His mother spoke more frankly.

“You do not look well, my dear one,” his mother confessed.

“I rather hope I would. Everyone said the silver crown would do the trick,” he said with a smile.

His mother grinned. “Grey is truly not your color. Who was the fool who told you otherwise?”

He laughed. He liked her frankness, it reminded him of Fili. “All Erebor’s a fool then!”

“Though, I must admit you do a lot more like your father now,” she said sitting on his bed.

His father. Fili had always had his looks, not him. “Is my hair golden now?” he teased.

“Nay,” she replied. “It was Fili who got his golden hair. You got his spirit and his laughing eyes.” She grew quiet.

 _She still grieves. She’ll always grieve like me_ , Kili thought.

“Mother,” he began.

“I have shed all my tears for them. I am empty now, dear one, I have none left. But then I saw you and it seemed I still did,” she said. She then smiled and stroked his cheek.

“You have me now. I am not going away,” Kili said, trying assure her.

“Of course not. You are far already gone,” his mother mused. “You feel strange to me. You don’t seem like the boy who set out with his uncle on an adventure.”

“The boy set out with his brother,” he groaned. He regretted it instantly, but his mother did not falter.

“Nay, that’s not it. Fili, yes, you mourn, I mourn. Yet, you seem distant. A stranger to me. I have only spoken to you for mere hours, it’s true yet I cannot shake the feeling you’re not here.”

“What do you say, mother?” Kili said. “I am here.”

“No, you are far away,” his mother protested. “You were always a dreamer like your father, but now something within you has changed.”

 _I grasped a star and I fell. My heart was cut to pieces. I have no brother. I have no love. I have no soul._ “I am fine, mother. Your heart misspeaks. Grief ill-advises you,” he said.

He smiled at her and his mother seemed to be comforted. She spoke again. “I hope so. I hope that in time I shall see how wrong I am. In truth, I am most grateful to have you in my arms. I am grateful to see you alive. I am grateful that I will see you bare children.”

“Children?” he echoed.

“Oh, my Kili, yes you are still young,” she said tenderly. “And this prince role was well-intended for your older brother, no doubt about that, but it is what it is expected of you.”

“Mother, you cannot seriously expect me to get married,” Kili replied alarmed.

“Not right now of course, but a match. A promised match would do the kingdom very good. Your uncle had said…”

Of course. This had his uncle written all over it.

“He has told me, but I have no desire to listen,” Kili protested. “I am still weak, and I care little to nothing for romance. I have no desire to wed.”

“My dear one, no one is asking you to wed. But to make a match, it would be most advantageous to Erebor. There are many fine daughters who seek not your hand but rather just your interest. To just acknowledge them, that would be enough.”

“Are you asking me to humor them? To flirt with them?”

His mother shook his head. “No, I am asking to simply acknowledge them. I heard Kheldar of the Ironfists brought his lovely daughter Ina to the Fire Moon banquet and you refused to sit with her.”

“I don’t know her. Why would I sit with a stranger?”

“Kili, you know perfectly well why you should.”

Kili grunted and looked away. His mother insisted. “My son, my dear one, I know you have been through a lot. I know you are still grieving, and I know you are still weak. But perhaps, mayhaps, this would do you some good. Distractions. New prospects.”

 _New stars_ , he thought. _Should I fill the void with empty stars?_ Why shouldn’t he? He was already playing a role he did not want inside a play he cared naught for. Why shouldn’t he continue this farce and pretend it all to be real? “Dreamers often lie,” Mab had said. _Yes, I’m a dreamer Mab, but you’re wrong. I can let go of my stars. I can stop dreaming if I want to._

His silence made his mother continue. “I am not asking you to marry any of the girls that are put forth or that visit, but I do ask you to acknowledge them. Can you do that? Can you promise me you will?”

“I promise,” he said and like all his promises to his mother, he meant to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prince Under the Mountain? More like Teenager Under the Mountain! I was truly blasting some MCR while rewriting this. Also it never ceases to amaze me how Tauriel and Kili are young adults, literally out of teenhood, in their respective races. This explains alot. 
> 
> (also the letter! let's just say there is something going on with letters we will explore in the next chapter...)


	7. Interlude - The King's Letters

The darkness suited him fine. The fire was still burning, slowly withering. _Soon only but embers will be left_ , the king thought.

Thorin found the dark comforting, there was no one to ask anything of him and no one he had to answer to. There were many things that were bothering him as of late. He often hid in his chambers, lighting a soft fire and thinking out loud in the darkness. He attended to his affairs, of course. Like a good king, he read and wrote letters, and mulled over problems that were yet to come. He liked the balance of light and dark. Where it was bright enough for him to read but dim enough for him to forget things he wished to.

At the present moment, Thorin only wished he had not supped so much. But Dain had insisted another course and who was he to refuse him? It was a king’s duty to welcome his guests and more importantly to indulge them. _Especially when one seeks something_ , he thought.

Dain had drunk his wine and supped on his bread and meat. He had been jolly and in good spirits, nodding and grinning at everything the king said. Thorin knew that it would be simple enough to get him to agree to the marriage, but he had been shocked at the ease of it all. It was no secret that Dain, while baring great love for his king, also coveted Erebor for his kin _. And who is he to blame? He is a Longbeard, of Durin’s Folks, it runs in his blood,_ Thorin mused. And it wasn’t just the Longbeards doing the coveting, the Firebeards had written to him first. Then had come the Ironfists with Kheldar bringing his daughter to the feast of the Fire Moon. It had not gone well with both Blacklocks and Stonefoots who deemed it favoritism. And now he heard from both the Stiffbeards complaining from the lack of invitation and the Broadbeams insisting they had priority in ancestry over the Firebeards.

It seemed strange that dwarf-maids were suddenly in surplus. But it was not just daughters, it was nieces, granddaughters, daughters-of-such-and-such, long lost cousins, and the list went on. Only the Ironfists and Firebeards had offered true daughters. Dain only had a niece he could present as a match and his niece, Dal, was not very comely. Ina of the Ironfists had been a prettier option, a slim girl with an ornate beard. And the Firebeards had been an even more tempting offer, for Thorin had reckoned an auburn-haired girl would sit better with his nephew.

He did not share these offers or thoughts with Dain, who was very drunk at this point of the supper. Still the King spoke, “What say you, Dain? The Durin’s Folks line would stay untouched. Pure to the stone.” “Aye,” responded the drunk lord. “I say ‘aye’, my king.” And, thus it was settled then and there.

_It was too simple_ , Thorin recalled. _The Longbeards were secured with a drink and a promise_. It had been a simple game, enough. Let Dain think he had preference for his line and his niece. And when the prince chose, whomever that would be, Dain would blame the dissolved match on a willful boy, not a betrayal from his cousin-king. Dain would not blame him for his nephew’s headstrong youth. He would be content in knowing his king had given his kin preference. _Now it is trying to convince the other clans I intent good-will on them all_ , he mused. That would be the hard part. He would have to write promptly and invite each lord to sup with him. _Mayhaps not the hardest_ , he thought. _Between some mead and bread, all is settled. No, it is not about not about securing a bride, it’s about securing a groom._

His nephew was stubborn to say the least. Despite what he said, Thorin still thought he had his hopes set on the elf-maid. After all, he had rebutted every attempt Thorin had made to talk about marriage. Kili would always change the subject or brush it off as insignificant. Thorin had been coy about it in the beginning and now he was running out of patience. _Dis might talk some sense into him_ , he reasoned. _He cannot mourn forever._

Yet Thorin felt that was not entirely true. He after all, was still mourning himself. _But that’s different, we’re different Kili and I,_ he refuted. _What we mourn for is not quite the same. What we long for…_

They both longed for someone far away from them. Someone who lived a world away, it seemed. Someone they had lost in the war. _I have lost nothing. I gained a kingdom,_ Thorin insisted. He thought of him, regardless. _Him, it is always him, isn’t it?_ , he thought. He still kept the letter he had written him folded in his pocket. He read it over and over. Each time he hoped the outcome would be different. He hoped he would muster the courage to write. But each time, he did not write.

_The embers are useless, then_ , Thorin thought. _If I do not intend to write, they are wasted in the fireplace._ But, in truth, he had not intended to write. He had intended to read. He opened the precious treasure crumpled in his breast pocket.

_Thorin_ , it read. _Do not think ill of me for leaving without saying goodbye. I agonized every night when we could not tell whether you would live. I did not leave your side once my dearest, Thorin. When you were out of danger, I couldn’t…I didn’t know what else to say. Perhaps it was wrong of me, but I thought to stay beyond that would have been reckless. But, now, I write because I_ am _reckless, and I know I should have stayed with you. Stayed with you till the very end. Whatever that might entail. Whatever that may be. If your feelings have not changed. If you harbor no ill towards me, do write. And whatever you ask of me, I will follow._

_Yours,_

_Bilbo Baggins_

The words had not changed, yet they still shook him to his core every time. _If your feelings have not changed,_ he said. _Whatever you ask of me_ , he said. He knew Bilbo was sincere, he could not be anything but sincere. Yet Thorin did not know why did not write back. He, too, longed for him. He, too, wished him back. He, too, shared the same feelings, feelings that perhaps had grown tremendously since their last meeting. Seeming as if the distance had brought their hearts closer together, instead of apart.

The King paced. He could not write, of course. It was natural, it was the right thing to do. He had a duty. He had a kingdom to run, he could not entertain love and numerous what-could-have-beens. Still Thorin’s thoughts returned to that comma after dearest. How a simple slip of ink could set a heart aflame. _How a simple slip of ink can also put out a flame_ , he thought. That’s what the letter to Tauriel had been, was it not? A slip of ink that he had not meant. _I meant it though,_ Thorin thought.

Balin had been the one to tell him to write to her. But it was not he who was behind it but the other dwarves. Bofur, in particular, had been very insistent. He did not why but somehow his companions had very clear ideas about Kili’s relationship to the elf-maid. Yes, they had seen her heal him when he was wounded and cling to him when he was thought dead. But that meant very little. Thorin had often performed loving acts to those in pain himself without ever harboring a romantic affection. _They let their hearts get the best of them. They are prone to unreason_ , Thorin mused. At first, he had meant to write that Kili had miraculously lived and his other nephew had not. Yes, he had started the letter with that intention. Then it had happened, the ink smeared and spelt _Fili_. And the more he stared at the new letter, a letter which told that Fili had lived and Kili had died, the more he felt it was right.

_Fili was supposed to be prince_ , he thought. _Not Kili. He never had the makings of it. He’s too rash and headstrong. Fili was stern yet merry. Strong yet wise. It should have been Fili, yes._ He had never prepared Kili for the role. He had always been his little nephew, his favorite, in truth, but never one he could trust with such a vast responsibility. _But now I must_. And in this realization, he had also understood the outcomes of all possible scenarios. If the elf-maid cared not for him, yes, he would suffer but eventually overcome it. But if she also harbored some strange infatuation for him, then, then… _It would be a mistake_ , he thought. Kili was stubborn and would never want any wife but this elf. And an elf could not, should not, by any rights be princess of Erebor. Even less queen if Mahal, or merely the other clans, had anything to say about it. _It would be a disaster, a stain on the line of Durin_. And could they even issue children? Such idea was completely unknown, unheard of, and most unnatural. _No, it will not come to that_ , Thorin had decided. Had Fili lived as crown prince and had Kili merely fancied his elf-maid and went off on an adventure somewhere, that would have been different. Scandal, he could live with, but heresy and dishonor he could not. That’s why he left that letter as such. He was protecting the realm. And most importantly, he was protecting Kili from himself.

Yet he had still feared his rash nephew would seek the elf-maid, but Mahal had been kind by bringing forth a letter from her. A letter as polite and as dry as he needed it to be. Kili had seen it and had been convinced at once of the story. He had not broken down as Thorin had expected. _Mercifully the boy is stronger than I thought_ , he recalled. And he had thankfully not brought up the subject ever again. The other dwarves, however, were not so easily reassured. Bofur was particularly adamant.

“Thorin, are you sure you wrote the right elf-maiden? Mahal knows there are many of them and they all look the same,” he had said.

“I have done so, friend, and she responded as she would,” the King replied.

“It is most strange,” Bofur confessed. 

_No, not strange at all_ , Thorin mused. It is perhaps most normal. Perhaps she never fancied him in the first place. How could she? She was an elf and he a dwarf. Infatuations between races were typically unnatural. No. There was no turning back. The deed had been done. He had not written to Bilbo but written to Tauriel instead. He had decided his fate. He could not sire children at his age nor take a wife. His heart would not allow it. But Kili was young, his heart may bruise but heal with time and be ripe again. The boy had many opportunities to be happy, Thorin had none. _The line of Durin is not so easily broken_ , he thought miserably.

Just then a knock came to the door. It was one of his servants, Nain.

“Your majesty, more coal for your fire?” he asked.

“Yes,” Thorin replied. “Perhaps some fire would brighten the room a bit.”

“Your majesty,” said Nain before nearing the fire. “You have more letters.”

Thorin received the letters warily. He felt he had just finished the last batch of letters, but luckily there were only two. One was from the Firebeards across the Misty Mountains, another from the elven kingdom of Mirkwood. The Lord Bivur feared his daughter has become attached to his smith and would take some more swaying than normal to journey to Erebor. Thorin paid it little attention. _It’s not a wayward bride I fear but a wayward groom_ , he thought. Still he would write promptly and reassure the lord of the match. The other letter was a bit more alarming. It was from the elf-maid _._

_Mahal, not this again_ , he thought.

_Your Majesty_ , he read. _I hope you and your prince are in good health and your kingdom most prosperous. I write to request, if your Majesty allows, that Prince Fili would write to me. I’ve realized that I’ve never spoken to him about his brother or his loss, and I would most grateful to hear from him. I understand the boldness of this request and I will not take offense if the Prince considers it improper. I do not wish to burden you or your kin and thus this shall be my only request and my last letter._

_Tauriel_

The request was obviously impossible, Fili was dead and Kili should not ever write to her. Yet he felt a tenderness in her words, a tenderness he recognized from Bilbo’s letter. _What if this elf-maid truly loves him?,_ he thought. _What if I’m separating what is meant to be put together? Something entwined forever in the stars?_ Thorin thought not only of the young lovers but of his own love.

_No, this cannot be. The line cannot be broke_ , the King thought.

Thorin looked around the room. His legacy, his future was all held here. He needed to do what must be done. He saw Nain stoking the flames. His chambers were now bright and hot, and like a king he wou do his duty.

“Nain, put this in the fire,” Thorin said handing him the elf-maid’s letter. Nain said naught and merely tossed the letter into the fire. It was consumed whole, in an instant gone.

_It is meant to be done,_ he thought gazing at the dancing flames _._ Some people plant trees, but Thorin did not. He was planting a dynasty. It was his birthright; he was doing it for him, for his father and grandfather, and for his people. He then took the crumpled letter from his breast pocket. His last treasure.

“Here, put also this in the fire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Thorin. He was my favorite character the first time I read The Hobbit and he remains a favorite of mine. I don't see him as a villain in the story, but rather a king who believes he is doing what is right. I hope I did him justice. Also Bagginshield is too pure. 
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter but next week the wheels get turning with the plot and it's gonna be a long one. Thank you for reading and kind comments <3


	8. Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So starting from here the timeline of the story gets a bit fuzzy. I'm moving between POVs so the times (Spring/Summer) will shift. TRAVELING ON MIDDLE EARTH TAKES A WHILE. The story is published how it is supposed to be told, but for chronological order purposes:
> 
> 1\. Feeling  
> 2\. The King's Letters  
> 3\. Wayward Mountains  
> 4\. Knowing  
> 5\. Lost in the Woods

The air was warm.

It was still the midst of spring, but even the sun seemed to shine brighter each day. And today the sky boasted a fierce blue, so beautiful that even the dark clouds lingering far away could not dull it. _And yet, rain will come soon enough_ , Tauriel mused.

Tauriel supposed she should enjoy the sunshine while it lasted. For half their journey it seemed the elves had trekked in either rain, mud, or storms. It did not dampen her spirits, however, nothing seldom could anymore. She felt a perpetual tempest in her heart, so why would a little rain bother her? Legolas, on the other side, seemed slightly upset. The search for the Dúnedain, whom they called Strider, had turned into a chase. They had taken the North-South Road and stopped at Tharbad, where he had been last seen. One of the innkeepers told them that Strider had not been seen in months and they would have more luck in Bree. The North Ranger was often known to roam near The Shire, a land where halflings called Hobbits dwelled. Tauriel found it odd that the Dúnedain had something to do with a place where Bilbo, the only hobbit she knew, resided. She had met the tiny friend of the dwarves at the end of the battle, he had been a sad figure, as grim as her perhaps. He was supposed to be a master burglar, yet she found him gentle and kind. She assumed it was a trait of his species for she had never encountered others before. She wondered why hobbits had once again entered the picture. _Why does the Dúnedain stay close to hobbits?_ she thought.

Legolas knew much less, he did, however, suppose that perhaps the lands of The Shire were one of the few places uncorrupted by darkness. Like the elves, Legolas reasoned that hobbits also retained a sort of purity. All this was, of course, based on his readings of old texts and books, for Bilbo had also been the first hobbit he had encountered. It was strange how they who had live so long, Legolas some years longer, had seen so little of the world. This realization seemed more prominent to Legolas who now was more eager than ever to explore new lands. “I’ve lived so long in both my father’s shadow and kingdom. To think how many centuries of Arda I have missed,” he told Tauriel. Despite the hampering weather and the poor luck with the Dúnedain, he seemed full of hope for the future. How Tauriel envied him. For her the days were strange and everchanging. Some days the sun was bright and the air sweet with promise, and she dared hope. Other days the sky was grey with clouds and thunder rolled with violent rain, and she felt alive. Then there were days, when the clear night wore a shimmering constellation of stars, and she cried with heavy sorrow. She felt both empty yet also emboldened with feelings. She could not describe it, so she spoke naught to Legolas about it. Yet he noticed and said nothing of her moods. There was a silent understanding that she was grateful for.

They were taking the Green Way up to Bree, when the grey clouds she had seen caught up with them. Their downpour was hasty albeit warm and almost pleasant. Legolas was not too pleased, however. He cared not for rain and particularly disliked getting his hair wet. Tauriel found it comforting, besides it was not the rain that had been dampening her spirits lately.

It was her dreams. They had stopped.

Not her actual dreams for she still dreamt with darkness and stars. It was her dreams with Kili that had completely ceased. She dreamt naught of him. At first, she was glad. It was such a bitter torment to awake every morning from the sweetness of his embrace to the cold arms of reality. But as the days progressed and spring bloomed, she realized how much she clung to those dreams, how much she needed those dreams. In those dreams, she walked with him. In those dreams, she kissed him. In those dreams, they were together as they could not be in her waking life. Now, she had him neither in dreams nor real life. It was utter gloom. She wondered what had changed, had he faded away? Had his soul left this realm? Tauriel did not understand. _Why does he not come to me in dreams?_ _The Lady of the Wood told me I could find me in my dreams but now he is gone. Vanished like a dream itself. Why does he not come to me?_ The more she wondered, the more she feared.

“Tauriel, look,” Legolas said interrupting her thoughts.

She glanced up and saw the wooden gates of Bree. The rain had ceased by then and the clouds began to part. Even moonlight had appeared, illuminating the wooden doors.

The man at the gate was taken aback to see elves but was of little help. He said he did not know any Strider but if someone did the Inn of the Prancing Pony was where they would find such man. However, this proved true enough when they met said innkeeper. Legolas inquired if he knew where the Dúnedain was heading. The innkeeper said Strider had planned to go North, but where North he had not said. The information was both discouraging and encouraging, on one hand they were closer to Strider, on the other the North was vast. Anywhere from Annúminas to Fornost could be a destination.

“Are you sure he spoke naught of the Shire or visiting there?” Tauriel asked.

The innkeeper eyed her carefully. “Aye, I’m certain. He was searching for something. Not something to do with hobbits. I believe Strider’s got a bit of trouble and hobbits don’t go looking for trouble. I reckon you never seen hobbits?”

“I have,” Tauriel replied.

“Well they’re small things and they like the quiet life. They seldom go about throwing themselves into perilous situations like your friend Strider,” the innkeeper said.

Tauriel supposed she could have mentioned Bilbo, the burglar who faced a dragon, but she did not want to argue with the man.

They, then, paid for their lodging and food. Legolas had decided to write to his father and inform him of the current situation. His last letter had been a while back and much had changed since then.

“Do you wish to write to someone?” Legolas inquired.

Tauriel knew well enough to know he was being polite, but she still looked at him quizzically. “No,” she said. “Who would I ever write to?”

_If I could write to anyone without any laws of time or place, I would write to Aulë and request, no, demand Kili back_ , she thought. _But then again, even he has not power over that._

That was a useless thought, but then her mind suggested other letters. Should she write to the King of Erebor again? No, the last letter been painful enough. She had been cordial enough in her writing to not burden the King with all her grief over her nephew’s passing, or even her love for that matter. She knew he would not approve of such a thing, so she had merely wished the surviving prince good health. _Kili’s brother, Fili_ , she recalled. She had seen him for the first time in Mirkwood. But she had heard much more of him from his brother. Kili had told many tales and she had listened. Many of them featured his bolder, yet much more sensible brother. She could tell how fond he was of him, even from his words. Tauriel had never had a sibling. Her parents had died when she was much too young, and they left neither brother nor sister. She often liked to imagine what it would be like to have a brother or sister. She also wondered what it would be like to lose one. _Does Fili mourn Kili as I do? Is he in pain right now?_ She supposed he would be. She would be devastated to lose Legolas, the closest thing she had to a brother. She couldn’t imagine an actual blood brother.

“Did I offend you?” Legolas asked breaking her thoughts. “I can imagine by your response that King Thorin never wrote you back.”

“No, he did not,” she told him. “And he’s not required to. I am sure he is preoccupied with other great things and I am the least of his troubles.”

“I think it’s rather ill-mannered of him. I believe he could spare you a meager letter,” he said with displeasure. “You did save his nephew’s life several times.”

She half-smiled. “Not the one time it mattered…”

“Tauriel…”, he began.

“No, I shall not start this again and vex you,” she said mildly. “I am tired. I think I shall go to bed.”

She departed to her chambers, wishing for dreams to comfort her. But she only tossed and turned in the dark. Outside, the rain was pouring again. When she did fall asleep, she only dreamt of a great prairie under a moonless summer night.

* * *

The next morning, Legolas proposed they split up and see if they could get more information about Strider’s destination. Legolas took to the nearby woods. He would look for other rangers who would perhaps know more. Tauriel would stay and inquire others around in Bree. It seemed to her that there was more to the town that met the eye. Indeed, the inhabitants of Bree were strange. There were men, firstly. Different kind of men there were. There were mysterious and quiet men who were more likely rangers or passing through. There were also local farmers or townsfolk who were suspicious and guarded her closely, for elves were an odd sighting in these parts. But there were also hobbits, rowdy little fellows who seem to come for trade or leisure. They seemed to enjoy gawking at her and tried to be as much as help as possible. But they seldom were of much. And lastly, there were dwarves, of course.

She had not seen dwarves since Erebor, and it was a welcome albeit not very friendly sight. The dwarves eyed her no more kindly than other men had. Elves were, after all, not natural friends of dwarves. Yet she reckoned she should attempt to inquire them about the Dúnedain, for although they may not be her friend, they might be friends of his.

She approached them as meekly and kindly as she possibly could. “Good afternoon,” she said. “Would any of you happened to know a ranger who goes by the name of Strider?”

The three dwarves did not speak but only stared at her. Whether out of horror or her mere audacity, she did not know. They looked rather different to the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. They wore thicker coats, their wools were black and coarse, and their beards were bushy and semi-braided. They also had a wooden cart with them, it was covered with several odd trinkets. 

“Please, I mean not to bother or cause offense,” Tauriel repeated. “I am merely seeking some information. It is important we reach him.”

The bigger dwarf with bright blue eyes and thick black beard, spoke. “What say you that an elf should have any right to interrogate a dwarf?” he asked his companions.

“I am not interrogating. I am only asking,” she clarified.

“It is all the same,” answered the dwarf. “I tell you, Elf, that if I knew I wouldn’t tell you and if I didn’t know I’d still not tell you.”

Very satisfied with his response he pulled his companions, muttered something in Dwarvish, and began to walk away. _Why must it always be like this between Elves and Dwarves?_ she thought. She had inquired men and hobbits alike, why should dwarves be the exception? 

She spoke frankly, “I would pay if you knew something and still pay if you knew nothing.”

The dwarf turned back around. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Because if you cheated me, I would have no way of knowing it, would I?”

“We are not liars!” the black-bearded dwarf roared in response. “If you think I’m going to stand here and let an elf accuse me of—”

“Nor, do I think that,” she interrupted. “I believe you are honest people who would share what you knew for a fair price.”

The second dwarf, who was smaller in stature came forward. “We are woodcarvers,” he said humbly. “If you buy a piece from us, perhaps we can help you find what you are looking for. We trade with many people, some of their names we forget. But others we can remember.”

The third dwarf nodded in agreement, but the black-bearded dwarf’s eyebrows furrowed in response. “Nay, she’s but a she-elf. An elf, brother? We cannot do that,” he argued.

The second dwarf replied, “You cannot, but I must. She’s willing to pay and I have a wife who’s heavy with child. I must sell our pieces.”

“A wife?” Tauriel asked moved.

“Yes. I will trade with Elves and Orcs alike if it means she will be well,” the dwarf replied. “She is my love.”

“Amrâlimê”, she whispered without thinking.

The dwarves took a step back in shock. The dwarf with black beard spoke first, his voice shaking, “What did you say?”

She herself could not speak, her face went red.

“How do you know that _word_?” asked the third dwarf.

She was struck with both embarrassment and horror. She cursed her utter foolishness. She had forgotten Dwarvish was a secret language. No one besides dwarves could speak it. Much less any Elf since perhaps the First Age. If she said she had heard it, they would not believe her. And if she lied and said she had merely misspoken, they would trust her much less. She could only speak sincerely and hope they would believe her.

“I was called that by someone once,” she said quietly.

The dwarves looked at her befuddled. _They think I am mad. That, or I am a most foul liar_ , she thought. _I don’t know which is worst._ But it was the second dwarf who stepped forward. He did not accuse her of lying or madness. In fact, his eyes had softened, and his demeanor had become much more open.

“I’m sorry,” he told her with much heaviness in his voice.

“What? She’s a sorceress! She must be!” insisted the first dwarf.

“Shh, Buri,” said the third dwarf.

The second dwarf spoke again, “If the elven-lady is good and trustworthy, for she appears as such to me, I may invite you trade with us and tea.”

Tauriel was taken aback by his hospitality but she accepted eagerly. 

Thus, the dwarves invited her to tea and to share a meal with them, even with the protests of Buri who insisted she was some kind of elven-witch. They soon introduced themselves. The gentle dwarf with the wife was Bruni, the dwarf with the purple garb was Frar, and the one who kept protesting was Bruni’s taller yet younger brother Buri. They said they were from the Blue Mountains and often came down to trade with the men or hobbits of Bree. They traded often in other lands as well. It wasn’t much money they made from it, but it was something to bring back home. On one their excursions near Annúminas, they had a traded with a strange fellow who went by the name of Strider. At first, they had thought he was an Elf for he was speaking Elvish to one of his companions, but upon closer inspection they realized it was a man.

“No offense, elven-lady,” Bruni said. “But we don’t often trade with elves. They don’t take very kindly to us.”

“I understand,” Tauriel said. “It seems our races are often at odds against each other. And yet as many dwarves as I have seen you strike me different than the dwarves of the East.”

“We are from the Blue Mountains,” Bruni said proudly. “Our kind has always resided there.”

_The Blue Mountains_ , she mused. _Yes, Kili told me about them. That’s where he said he came from. That was his home. But these Dwarves, they not look like him or any of Thorin’s company. They are not quite the same._

“But I know dwarves from the Blue Mountains,” she said politely. “And you are rather different.”

Buri, who had not spoken to Tauriel, scoffed. “I don’t reckon you’re talking about those fancy dwarves of Durin’s Folk?”

Bruni eyed his brother warily. “We are Broadbeams,” he said. “We work with wood, making toys, furniture, or anything your heart desires.”

“You make lovely things,” Tauriel agreed. “Forgive me if I offend, but I don’t quite understand: don’t dwarves mine and work with precious metals? What is the necessity of woodcarving?”

Buri muttered something in Dwarvish which made Frar laugh. Bruni glared at them both. “The Blue Mountains has not much wealth since after the War of Wrath,” he explained. “Our wealth comes from trading not mining.”

She had realized the wealth of gold, silver, and gems was a special affair and not a dwarven commodity. _Broadbeams,_ she repeated. These were humble dwarves. They didn’t have the fine clothing Thorin and company had possessed. Nor did they carry themselves as such. She kept forgetting how the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain were descendants of Durin I. _Fancy_ , as Buri had put it. They were the Noldor and Sindar elves of the dwarves. And these Broadbeams were the Silvan elves of them all. _They are like me,_ she thought sadly _. We are more alike than they think_.

“I am sorry if I offended,” Tauriel began carefully. “I come from Mirkwood and all the dwarves I have ever known have mined. The Lonely Mountain is especially—”

“Erebor!” said Buri.

“The King Under the Mountain! Have you seen him?” asked Bruni.

“Yes, I have but—” Tauriel began.

“Bah, he’s a rotten one!” Buri said.

“Shhh, don’t say that about the King!” Bruni snapped at him.

“Why do you say that?” she asked

“He chose the Firebeards over us,” said Frar.

“Nonsense!” said Bruni.

“Everyone knows the Broadbeams came first!” Buri said. “Those ginger-bearded goats think they’re better than us. I’d say they’re no better than some Petty-Dwarves!

“No offense to your red hair, my elf-lady. It’s very pretty,” Frar corrected.

Tauriel smiled at the compliment. “I take none, but I don’t understand. How did he prefer the Firebeards?”

“The Prince,” Frar said. “He’s seeking for a bride…”

“And The King took stinky Bivur Firebeard’s offer first,” Buri concluded.

“That matters for naught any longer,” Bruni interrupted. “Everyone knows the Prince Under the Mountain is already courting one of the Ironfists’ daughter or was it one of the Longbeards?”

_Fili_ , Tauriel thought. That gladden her heart. Even if she missed his brother terribly, he was happy the other brother had a chance at love and a happy life.

“That’s good,” she replied.

“Tili, Vili, what was the prince’s name?” Buri pondered.

“Fili, it’s Fili,” Tauriel corrected him.

“Yes, that was it: Prince Fili,” Buri said.

“Was that it?” Frar asked.

“Yes, that sounds a bit odd to me,” Bruni mused.

“I am certain of it,” Tauriel responded. “I live near the Lonely Mountain, so I know who the prince is.”

“I believe you, elven-lady,” Bruni said. “But I could have swore his name was different. We might get a glimpse of him well enough. We are heading to the Lonely Mountain ourselves.”

She taken aback. “What for?”

“Trading,” Frar said. “Ever since the King has returned, Erebor is a ripe place for trading. Every clan who goes is said to come back with riches.”

“Will you miss your wife?” Tauriel asked Bruni.

“I will,” Bruni said with a smile. “We have discussed it and it’s the best for our child. I’m not going to war, after all. Some coin should come in handy for us.”

“It’s quite a long journey,” she said.

“Aye, if you’re not a dwarf,” Buri said. “We will be taking passage through the Grey Mountains and all the way down to Erebor.”

“The Grey Mountains? Won’t you have to pass by Angmar? It is forsaken and cursed land,” she warned.

“Worry not, elf-lady,” Frar interrupted. “We have talismans to protect us and for the us the land is blessed. For it is where the Misty Mountains and the Grey Mountains meet that Durin I awoke.”

_Talismans_ , Tauriel thought _. Do they ever truly work?_ She smiled sadly at the dwarves but said naught. She could not. As kind as they were, her grim thoughts would not give them any encouragement. It was best she spoke naught of Kili and his own talisman.

“I wish you all safe travels,” Tauriel rising. “I thank your hospitality and your food. I will tell my companion about Annúminas. And of course, I will purchase an item for a price as we agreed.”

“Ah, I would say you needn’t, but the money is needed,” Bruni said tiredly.

Frar pulled out their wooden cart closer to her. “Here, take your pick of the lot!” he said merrily.

Indeed, the things were lovely as she had seen them from afar. There were many odd and wonderful things, from strange little toys to curiously carved knives. There were also pretty fabrics of every color. She picked up a blue quilt in fascination.

“I knitted that meself!” said Frar proudly.

“It’s quite good stitching,” she told him.

He nodded. “It’ll keep you warm through winter!”

“Oh, but there are so many lovely things!” she said a bit overwhelmed. “I truly do not know what to choose.”

“Hm, perhaps something practical?” offered Bruni.

“Nonsense! Here, have a pretty charm,” Frar offered.

She handed her a tiny rune stone engraved with dwarvish, dangling by a string of beads and blue thread. It was queer little thing, yet precious in its own way.

“It is very pretty,” she agreed.

“They were meant to go on a dwarves’ beards,” Frar explained. “They are said to bring good luck in war or travel. But you can wear in your hair! Some dwarves do.” 

“Bah, it’s meant for dwarf-men, not elf-women,” Buri grumbled.

“It truly does not matter who wears it,” Bruni snapped at him. “Frar is a little odd in suggesting it to you, elven-lady. It _is_ traditionally worn by a male. They are made by my wife, you see. They serve as little charms as well as wonderful courting items.”

Frar shook his head. “Oh, I’m sure she minds not what our traditions demand. No one will know when she wears it. The thread is picked by me, you see, and so are the beads. I’m quite of proud them. Wear them as you like. Or like Bruni said, give it as a gift. Braid it into the hair or beard of the dwarf, or sure elf, who is your One and you’ll be entwined forever.”

“It is practically useless to her,” Buri insisted.

Tauriel knew he was right, yet Frar’s description warmed her heart and she found herself bound to the little trinket.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “I will buy it.”

“It will look great in your red hair,” Frar said happily.

“Any fool knows that color would suit someone with dark hair best,” Buri replied.

“Since when are you our expert of textiles and colors?” Frar retorted.

“No, it will suit me just fine,” she said graciously. “But do tell me, what does the rune say?”

Frar snickered and Buri managed a sneer. But Bruni looked at her coyly. “We cannot tell you, my lady. Dwarvish is a secret language. It would be ill of us to speak it to an Elf.”

Tauriel nodded courtly, she did not mean to overstep her boundaries. “All the same, I thank you,” she said paying the dwarf.

Bruni seemed amused for he smiled and added, almost in whisper, “I dare say Frar picked it for the word, not the colors.”

She looked down at the rune, small in her hand. And she read the word as the one once spoken to her by a lake.

* * *

It was late night in the Prancing Pony, when Tauriel began to write. The conversation with the dwarves had arose her curiosity about Fili. He was prince now and he would naturally be preoccupied, but would he spare her a moment to talk about his brother? He had seen her heal him. Would he remember he deed? Would he be willing to share his memories of his brother with her? Kili seemed to be fading in her memory every day. He had vanished completely from her dreams. Would he then vanish from her mind? From her heart? It ached so much to think of either possibility. _Could the White Lady of Lorien have been wrong?_ she thought _. Perhaps his spirit is leaving Arda and parting from me…_ All seemed possible now. And now those last dreams seemed ever so precious. She finished the letter and hoped it would bring forth a response.

She went to bed wishing for a sweet dream, but it was the same one.

She was in an open field under a shimmering night sky. She walked alone for there was not a soul. Yet the stars were bright and looked down upon her luminously. She spoke to them, once again. After many months of silence, she begged them once more. “Please, stars…” she said. “Please bring him to me once more. Once more and I will not ask naught else of you.”

They did not response but merely glared at her.

“Or if you cannot, sacred stars, take me to him!” she pleaded. “I would like to see him…”

It seemed pointless, the stars were coy and they stopped speaking to her a long time ago. Yet they heard her all the same for the ground opened up and a black hole was revealed. The hole was dark and went deep, like a tomb and yet there were stairs. She was frightened but dared climb down. _Am I mad? Is this a dream or nightmare?_ she wondered. She would find out soon enough.

The stairs kept going down, down, down… In darkness she walked… There was no light until there was.

A dim light flickered in the distance. She raced to it, like a moth desperate and weary. But the light was no vibrant orb or brilliant star, but merely a faint candle. A candle in a chamber. A chamber with a fireplace and well-furnished with an ornate bed. And in the bed, there he lain…

Despite all her longing, she was wary of the sight at once. The figure in the bed was pale and motionless _. A corpse, oh that would be cruel,_ she thought. She came closer, his breathes were soft but they were there. _A dream, a sweet dream._ And like a tender dream, she leaned forward and he woke with a kiss.

He smiled at once, even before he opened his eyes. As if he knew it was her, as if he had been dreaming of the moment right then. Yet once his eyes met hers, he did not leave her. “Tauriel,” he said, “You came! At last!” She embraced him tightly and kissed him a thousand times. “Yes, of course, I came. Where would I be if not with you?” she asked.

“I called so many nights! I’ve had so many dreams where you did not come,” he said caressing her face. “But at last it is you! You are finally here with me. Please do not leave me again.”

She cried at his words. “How could I ever?”

The kissed again. The moment lasted forever, it lasted for a second. She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. “And yet, I know this dream will not last…”

“Dream?” Kili muttered. “Dream? Yes, it is a dream to have you here. You have not come in my dreams, but now you shall come every day! If I cannot have you in my waking life, I shall have you in my dreams!”

“Your waking life?” Tauriel laughed. “Oh, Kili, how can you say that?”

“I say that because I love you and I do not want you to leave,” he replied. He cupped her face, his touch gentle. “Come to the Mountain, Tauriel. Come back to me.”

She did not understand. Even in the dream, it was strange thing to ask. _Could this be what the Lady of the Wood meant?_ Tauriel thought _. Does he want me to die with me? To meet him in death? And, yet he is asking and I would…I would. I would. I would._

“But, Kili, I cannot…”, she managed to say.

“Promise me,” he said grasping her hand tightly, “Promise me, you’ll keep my promise. Promise, you’ll come. Come back to the Mountain. Come back to me.”

His eyes were glossy with tears and an immense sorrow. _He is not asking me to die, no. There is something else here,_ she realized.

“What do you mean, my love? I do not understand your words…” she said trying to comfort him. She gently wiped the tear rolling down his cheek. “Why do you suffer so much? Why are you not at peace?”

“Peace? No, I cannot have peace so far away from you,” he said. “No peace, no light, no future, no past, no present…”

“I do not understand you. Truly, it pains me to see you this way,” she said. She felt herself now heavy with grief and confused by his words.

“Then, come see me. Do not come in dreams. Come to me, please. Come,” he pleaded.

“Where?” she asked desperately. The candle’s flame began to stir. The bed began to dissolve. _The dream is fading…_

“To the Lonely Mountain. To Erebor!” he said holding onto her. His hold was fragile. His body was becoming mist. His face, a memory. His voice, an echo. “Come see me, even if you don’t love me, just let me see you one last time…”

She tried to grasp onto him with dear life, but it was to no avail. “What do you mean? How can you say—”

He faded. The dream is ended. She was alone.

She awoke.

She was covered in sweat. _Was it a dream? Or what is it a nightmare?_ she thought.

She arose in the dark and headed to her window, she needed cool air. There was no rain, just the clear night sky glistening with a hundred stars. She breathed the air deeply.

_There are no clouds,_ she thought gazing at the sky _. A dream… But what does it all mean? Why did he say I didn’t love him?_ She did not comprehend any of it. The stars were beaming, they seemed to speak. She closed her eyes and tried to listen. But she only heard Kili’s voice.

_“Come back to the Mountain…” “Come back to me…” “Just let me see you one last time…”_ All his words were strange and made no sense. Yet she dared not deny him.

She packed her things at once and wrote a note to Legolas. She tried over and over again to write something that didn’t sound like she had gone mad. _All the explanations are futile_ , she realized. “ _I must leave you because my dead beloved has called for me.” “I must leave because of a dream._ ” _Oh, I have gone mad and love was never reasonable._ Eventually she wrote two lines that made sense:

“I must go back to the Lonely Mountain. I have a promise to keep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late but in my defense I was so caught up with the current writing (I'M IN SUCH A GOOD PART IN THE STORY) that I forgot to work on this sooner. It just needed loads of rewriting and tweaking. Anyway its a long nice chapter (by my standards) and next chapter will also be long and jam-packed with stuff.
> 
> ALSO FINALLY STUFF HAPPENING.


	9. Knowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm moving between POVs so the times (Spring/Summer) will shift. TRAVELING ON MIDDLE EARTH TAKES A WHILE. The story is published how it is supposed to be told, but for chronological order purposes:
> 
> 1\. Feeling  
> 2\. The King's Letters  
> 3\. Wayward Mountains  
> 4\. Knowing  
> 5\. Lost in the Woods

The sun kissed his face.

A thousand kisses she planted on him, each sweeter than the next. _It’s a shame summer is ending_ , he mused. He liked nothing better to lay below the bright blue sky and above the gentle lake. The breeze was soft and day still long, he could not imagine a more pleasant outing.

“A little help here?” Bofur asked. He and Ori were doing all the rowing.

“Hm, I could,” Kili began, “but then again I musn’t strain myself.”

Bofur only scoffed at this. In truth, his strength had finally returned to him, and while not in the robust health, the act of rowing was not particularly a difficult one. He could perhaps row fine if he chose to. His companions possibly assumed this as well. And yet, Kili made no effort to move. The day was lovely and the sun warm, why should he go through some unnecessary toil?

“I am surprised I managed to lure his royal highness out the palace and into the daylight,” Bofur said to Ori. He laughed in response. This was perhaps why they fostered some leniency on him and took no slight in his laziness. Yet Kili could not go along with the joke.

“I do go out,” he said in his defense. “From time to time…”

“Aye, you do,” Bofur replied. “You go outside, look briefly at the sun, and, then, lock yourself again in your chambers.”

“I do not,” Kili argued.

“Oh, my apologies,” Bofur continued in good spirit. “You do go out if a sweet lady tempts you to do so.” Ori laughed again at that.

“Don’t say such nonsense!” Kili said. “I only go because I’m forced to, and I hardly enjoy myself.”

This was true enough. Thorin had insisted too many times and he had promised his mother. He had spent time both with Ina from the Ironhills and Dal, niece of Dain. He didn’t care much for either.

“I wish I was forced to spend time with Dal,” Ori sighed.

“Perhaps you could find her enjoyable company,” Kili replied.

There wasn’t anything wrong with Dal, except she was boring and dull. Ina was far more interesting to be around with. She was well-read and liked tales, especially listening to them. And she was pretty. She would be truly pleasant if she wasn’t painfully shy. _Fili would have liked her, though_ , he thought. _He would have found her intriguing enough. He would have spoken to her tenderly. He would have liked her shyness and drawn her out of her shell with gentleness._ He was not his brother.

Kili sighed. How strange that life would permit him a beautiful summer in the company of a pretty maid. And how strange he felt it should be his brother enjoying it. _It was meant for Fili, everything was meant for him._

“Well, you have us,” Bofur said interrupting his thoughts. “We’re enjoyable company enough.”

“That is true,” he said turning to face the sky, the sun still looking down upon him.

Yes, the summer had been rather good. As good as it could be. _Perhaps I could learn to like this life meant for Fili,_ he mused. _Perhaps I could learn to like them, Dal or Ina or any other. Perhaps I could learn to love the day, as well. Perhaps, then, I wouldn’t spend my days longing for the stars._ But it was quite an impossible task and had become near agonizing since that dream in spring had driven him mad.

It had been almost a daydream, for he had thought it was real in the moment it occurred. He was laying in his bed, drifting off, when she came, almost out of the dark. He had felt her presence before he saw her. He had been woken from his sleep with a kiss and he had finally seen her with his very eyes. She was radiant, her eyes green and pure. Her face soft and tender, and her hair long, red, and everywhere. How he loved her, how he forgave her for everything then and there. His ego and pride were completely forgotten when his heart caught fire. And he told her everything. He pleaded. He begged. _And she kissed me a thousand times_ , he recalled, his cheeks feeling warm at the thought. _Yet she has not come._ Even in the dream, he asked her to come, he had done everything to persuade her to do so. But in the end, he had held her, and she had faded, just like in reality.

 _A cruel dream_ , Kili thought under the blinding light of day. _A cruel trick of the night. I have wished for her so long that I have now dreamt her. It means nothing._ Yet all the same, the dream had kindled both his hope and his heart. He could not stop thinking of her. Her kisses, her words… It was useless to escape them for they found him every time and every part felt of him aflame again. 

“You’ll have to row back,” Bofur interjected.

“What?” he said taken aback.

“When we head back to Erebor,” Bofur said. “You’re rowing back. Prince or no prince.”

Kili managed a rare, true smile. He was happy to have his friends around him and he was glad to have chosen to accompany them to Dale. It had been ages since he had been there and welcomed any distraction. Especially one that wasn’t related to some impending, unwanted marriage.

When they arrived, it was almost noon and the fishers were also returning to port. Kili had decided to come incognito, foregoing all formal introductions or titles. He had worn clothes plain enough for him. He blended in nicely with Bofur and Ori. It wasn’t a matter of people recognizing him or not, but rather in not drawing too much attention to himself. And no one did take notice, the port was bustling with merchants, fishermen, and others looking to get a bargain. Kili could only muse on his last time by the shores of the lake. Here was where he had said many things to someone he loved. _I called her ‘my love’_ , he thought bitterly. _Why did I ever do that?_ Bofur seem to take noticed of his reminiscing for he pulled him to his side. He, then, jokingly threatened to put him in a barrel full of fish if he refused to row back. “Like old times,” he said. Ori made a face of horror remembering the event himself. And Kili laughed heartily. Not all parts of his past were necessarily painful, some were even amusing to dwell upon.

* * *

They soon left the ports by the lake and arrived at the city. Dale was not as impressive as it had been in years past, but not it was also no longer the ruins of a kingdom laid to ashes. It was blooming its own way. Homes were being rebuild, businesses were flourishing, and people seemed to be set on thriving. He had heard talk that Laketown was also being rebuild, but Dale was the priority to King Bard. And yes, Bard the Bowman had been declared king following the events with Smaug. It was strange to Kili that such a man, though not below being kingly, should become king without no royal blood or claim. Yet, he also supposed no one deserved it best. Bard had fought valiantly and cared deeply for his people, all traits that were true makings of a king. Even Thorin had acknowledged that much.

Still, he looked forward to the chance of seeing him and the bardlings. He had not seen them since he had fallen and had been brought back from death. He wondered if they even knew he lived, for beyond the dwarves, very few knew of his miraculous recovery. Yet he supposed that Men, being neighbors to Erebor and all, should know. He had not asked Thorin about it and he wondered if he should have been more curious about that.

After having supper at some local tavern with very good fish, they decided to go separate ways. Bofur was here to do some trading. Ori had his sight set on exploring the newly furnished library. They both invited Kili to go along with them, but he declined. He told them he would like nothing better than to enjoy the sun by taking a stroll around the strange, new city. For him, Dale was an uncharted world that resembled not his dwarven kingdom. It was nice to be in the unfamiliar, almost exciting even. How he missed the feeling of it, that sense of adventure had been taken away from him. _My last adventure ended poorly_ , he thought.

He had walked over an hour when he came to an ornately sculpted fountain. Here he decided to stop and take in the pleasant scenery. He admired both the structure and architecture of the buildings. He also took notice of the proud stride of the people strolling about the city. _They have come so far since Smaug descended upon them at Laketown_ , he mused. _And, so have I._

He was admiring the tiny fishes in the fountain’s pond, when a queer voice spoke out to him. “Kili?”

He turned his face and saw a tall girl with chestnut-colored hair and wide, bright eyes. “Prince Kili?” she repeated with astonishment.

“Yes?”

“Oh, so it is you!” the girl said. “It’s me, Tilda.”

The name took him back to Laketown itself, where he had battled between life and death and where starlight had descended upon him.

“Tilda! You’re one of Bard’s daughters!” he exclaimed. She had been just a child when he had last seen her, and she still was for what he knew about the lifespan of men. Yet she had grown taller and livelier, in fact, she was nearly as tall as him. Children of men never stopped growing, or so it seemed to him.

“Yes, you remember!” Tilda replied with excitement. “Last time I saw you, you were badly wounded and now you’re alive. We all thought you died in battle! I was so happy when my father told me otherwise.”

“Oh, yes, but, my lady, you are a princess, are you not?” he asked lightly.

“Sure,” she said rather unamused. “More like Sigrid is the princess, I just walk around and nod to whatever she deems wise. But do tell me, you are a prince, as well! How goes it in Erebor? And your friends? Are they also here?”

And so, she sat next to him and Kili told her his long tale. She seemed both intrigued and delighted by everything he said. She also told him her own tale, that of the men of Laketown, Dale, and her father, King Bard.

“It must be awful being a prince,” Tilda mused, “all that Bain does is complain.”

Kili laughed and agreed. “He is not far off. It is truly dull work.”

“Your story is very sad,” she continued, “I am very sorry about your brother. My sister was also very sad to hear it. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my brother. Or my sister for that matter.”

He nodded once again. “Yes, it is.”

“But I’m sure there is a happy ending,” she said. She, then, grew very quiet and spoke in almost an uncertain whisper. “Do you plan to visit my father later today?”

“Well, I was not planning on so, my lady,” he said rather confused at her shift in tone. “Why do you ask?”

She looked at him intently. “If you do, you must solemnly swear that you won’t tell my father I asked you about this. Or Sigrid. They told me not to meddle things that are not of my concern. But I cannot help it.” 

“I do not understand,” Kili said.

“You must swear,” she repeated.

“Very well, I swear.”

The young princess sighed with relief. She, then, began to speak with a sudden vivacity. “Tell me, oh tell me please whatever happened to you and Tauriel? Do you write to her? Are they ardent love letters? I know I shouldn’t really ask this, but I’m so curious. When father told me you died, all I could think was how tragic and Tauriel. Oh, no, how tragic for her and what a most sad love story. I love the love story of Luthien and Beren, don’t you? I always cry and Bain teases me. But I was so, so glad when I heard you weren’t dead! Then, I thought: ‘Oh, this doesn’t have to be like Luthien and Beren at all!’ No, not all, because you are alive, and you love each other. Oh, please dear prince of Erebor, don’t sit so quiet and coy. If it’s a secret love, I promise I will not tell. I solemnly swear. But do tell me otherwise, for I have been burning to know whatever happened!”

He did not know what to say. It took him a while to process the entirety of the young princess’ words.

“I am afraid you are mistaken,” he finally said. “There is no love affair.”

Tilda’s face fell. “That’s impossible. How can that I be? Is it forbidden?”

“There is nothing to be forbidden for there is nothing,” he answered.

“But what do you say?” exclaimed the young princess. “I saw you two! She healed you! I heard you! You called her starlight. Sigrid told me not to eavesdrop, but I did anyway. You said she walks between the stars. Oh, I’ve heard many stories of romance and that was very romantic. Just like the meeting of Beren when he gazes upon the maid Luthien for the first time and calls out to her. Oh, I know it! She loves you! Do you not love her? No, impossible—”

“It’s not impossible,” he replied bitterly. “She does not love me, nor do I care to be love by her.”

Tilda was stupefied. “Are you mad? Were the words you said to her just wind?”

“What I said…I don’t…” he began. In truth, Kili did not know why he was explaining such complicated things to a child. “You are obviously very young to understand, but all you need to know is that Tauriel…the elf-maid does not feel the same way about me as I did about her.”

The young princess shook her head. “That’s not true. She was grieving you so immensely the last time I saw her.”

Kili’s heart quickened at that.

“How? When? When have you seen her?” he inquired.

“Before the end of winter,” she said. “My father paid a visit to Mirkwood. I offered to go along because I wanted to see her. But, in truth, I wanted to know if she knew about you. She was very sad. She tried to act not so around me. She was very kind, she even showed me around all the great trees and rivers. She tried to be pleasant and talk lightly, but I can tell when people are sad. My father had heard rumors about one of Thorin’s nephews living and I wanted to tell her so badly. Yet he insisted these were dwarf affairs, and that rumors weren’t to be trusted.”

“If this is true…” he began.

“It is true!” Tilda insisted. “She was very sad. That’s why when I heard you were living all I wanted was for the Lady Tauriel to know.”

“She does know,” Kili interrupted. “She wrote to my uncle.”

“Not to you, my lord?” Tilda asked wide-eyed. “Did she not write to you confessing her undying love?”

“No,” he said rather roughly. “She did not and probably will never do such a thing. I am afraid both me and you have misunderstood her sentiments. The sadness you witnessed was most likely for her Elven Prince who had recently left her.”

The young princess was not convinced. “She spoke naught of a prince. She only reminisced of Laketown and stars. Oh, you cannot possibly believe she does not love you! It is most obvious to me.”

Kili had grown tired of her infantile feelings and thoughts. She was only a young girl filled with dreams of romances and no notion of bitter reality. “I don’t have to believe,” he said, “I know.”

“Have you asked her?” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“Have you asked if she loves you?” the young princess replied keenly.

“I don’t have to ask—”

“Have you written to her?”

“No, but my uncle—”

“Then, you have not asked her, and you do not know,” the princess concluded.

“What difference would it make?” he grunted.

“All the difference. You would know if you’d write to her.” Tilda said. “Or if you saw her. Yes, if you asked her, she would not deny it.”

Kili did not know what to say. He had never considered the possibility of seeking her out, of going to see her. The act of asking and laying his heart out right in front of her… He had never considered it. Perhaps because it would hurt him, perhaps because it would kill him.

“These are childish notions and I dare not entertain them,” he said at once.

“Well, entertain them naught!” the princess snapped. “All I know is that she loves you and you love her and for some reason you are denying both of these things. I may be a young girl, but I know romance and stories of it. Does the hero not seek the lady? Does the prince not come?”

Kili sighed. “Yes, but the prince often dies, does he not?”

This time is was Tilda who did not know what to say. And perhaps it was best for Kili did not want return to the subject matter. He, then, asked her to tell him about her family once more, to speak of Dale. He preferred any other conversational topic. Tilda being a good and gracious princess obliged. And thus, they continued their talk until, at last, sunset approached. She invited him to dinner with her family, but he politely declined. He still felt rather sick after their exchange and he wasn’t too keen on going to the castle. She took it not as a slight and still reaffirmed her fondness for seeing and conversing with him. Kili, in turn, wished well on both the King and his kin, and he, even, expressed interest in visiting in the far future.

“I hope I have not spoken out of turn,” she confessed as they were parting.

“No, I rather believe it is good to speak what one believes in,” he said thoughtfully. “Even if the listener cares not to hear it.”

Tilda managed a giggle at that. She was still most naturally a child, Kili noted. _There is nothing wrong with clinging to fairytales at that age. I, on the other hand…_

“And yet,” the princess said. “I do wish you heed what I say. It is too good of a story to end so tragically.”

“But aren’t those the best stories?” Kili jested.

“Yes, but this is real. And you are alive,” she said. She then hugged him and departed at once.

* * *

The sky was turning orange and the sun ever shifting west as he exited the city of Dale. The young princess’ last words rung in his head, however. _Yes, I’m alive but at what cost?_ he thought. _My brother is dead. I’ve lost the love I thought I had._ _I’ve had my adventure and I have bled. Tragic or not, this is where it ends._

When he finally arrived at the docks, Bofur and Ori were not too pleased to see him. They had been waiting for him for the past half hour. He offered both his meeting with Tilda and his fatigue with walking as excuses. They took them gladly, but it did not save him from rowing this time around. Kili did not mind for he had planned to keep that promise, yet he feigned annoyance to amuse them. Ori spoke excitingly about several books he had acquired and Bofur asked him about Tilda and how the Bardlings were doing. He replied to both inquiries mildly. Soon, the sun began to set, and they rowed quietly through the lake. A sudden sweet silence befell them.

Kili was grateful for it. He wanted nothing more than to admire the newly golden lake and the everchanging pastel skies. And yet, all was not silent, for his heart was stirring and speaking to him. He wrestled with it wearily. Tauriel loving him? No, her letters and her absence said enough. She had not loved him as he had, or else she would have been here, at his side. Yet his heart remained ever fixated on Tilda’s words. What if she was right? What if she did grieve him? What she truly loved him and by some strange cause of fate or destiny or error, she had written such a response? He wanted to drown all these suppositions and questions in the water. _Let them rot there_ , he mused. _They serve me not._ _They are wild and full of false hope. If she loved me, I would know. If she loved me..._ His heart began to race, and it would not stop. _Now_ , his heart mused. _If she loved me now, I would go to her. I still love her, by Mahal I do. I cannot and I have not stop loving her._

He let the thought sink in.

And as he continued rowed, he found the lake now dappled in rosy pinks and the lavender hues of dusk. He looked towards the setting sun in the west, thinking of how he envied that sun. That western sun would set where Tauriel was, it would lie with her and it would bring forth her stars she loved so well. How he wished to be the sun, to sail west, to go west, to go to her, to be with her, to lie with her…

 _Ravings_ , his mind spoke, at last, overtaking his heart _. I have grown soft with hope and mad with dreams._ He could not think anymore. He was angry at his heart for fooling him, and yet he was also angry at his mind for denying him the only thing he wanted. The only dream he had left, the only dream he wished most ardently for. He was tired of fighting both of them. He never won. And only grief and angst were left after every brawl.

Kili sighed helplessly.

“Already tired, lad?” Bofur asked jokingly.

“Yes,” he replied dryly enough, “but not of rowing.”

“Ah, it’s your mind that’s troubling ye,” Bofur observed.

“Not mine, it seems at times,” Kili said plainly. “It is most persistence and never stops.”

“You should try reading,” Ori offered.

Kili tried to smile. “No, I rather not. I don’t have the brain for it. Nor the love you have for your books.”

“But you would find them most fascinating, Kili,” Ori insisted. “This one is the Old Legends of Men, most wonderous tales. The other is all about Elves and their customs—”

Ori cut himself off before he could finish the sentence. He, then, blushed at his own impertinence.

“I’m sorry, Kili…I didn’t mean…” Ori began.

Kili laughed hollowly. “What is talk of elves prohibited all of a sudden? I’m sure I would find the book compelling as well as illuminating.”

He bothered him greatly that his friends acted like his affair with Tauriel, if it could even be called that, was some grand secret. Something that was to be kept hidden at all times and not be spoken of. As if his feelings in the aftermath were of little importance or concern. As if his memories were not fresh wounds that still needed tending. He especially hated Bofur and Oin for not speaking to him about it. They had been there. They have been there when she had healed him, when starlight had walked among them. They had been there, but they never brought it up. And from what he gathered the others knew just as well. But none ever spoke about it. Not that he truly wished to speak about it. It was a failure on his part, was it not? To have loved something he could never had have. To have hoped in vain. He looked both at Ori’s and Bofur’s face. _They know and they pity me_ , he mused with disdain. _Of course they do for even I pity myself._

He gritted his teeth and spoke once more. “Ori, do tell me, what does your book say about courting?”

Ori’s face grew confused and even Bofur gave him a queer look.

“The book about Men?” Ori asked carefully.

“No, the one about Elves,” Kili corrected. “Does it say what do they when they are courting someone?”

“Well, I haven’t gotten too far into it, Kili,” Ori began. “But it does say it’s a rather long process, taking roughly a year. Most importantly marked by the exchange of rings…”

“Rings,” Kili repeated. “Interesting. I never got a ring.”

“Kili…” Bofur said slowly.

“No, I did not,” he said once again with bitterness. “Tell me, what else does it say, Ori?”

“Well, the courtship after the exchange of rings is a year and it could be broken at any time by either party…”

“Is it done in person or is it by letter? One must know these things—"

“Kili,” Bofur interjected. “What is this about?”

“Do not pretend to be shocked,” he said unbothered. “You saw just as well as I did. You were there, weren’t you? I am tired of pretending all this did not happen and that it was all some raving dream.”

Bofur’s eyes widened. Perhaps he had never expected Kili to speak openly about her. And neither had he. Yet he was here talking about it. Because of anger and contempt. Or perhaps because of tiredness and desperation. He did not know.

Kili only rowed furiously and continued, “I am already pretending enough for Thorin, am I not? Do not tell me to pretend to you, too, that it was all some mad dream.”

“True, it was no dream,” Bofur said. “I was there, as you said. And I saw and I heard. Do not think it does not give me pain to see you carry this burden upon your heart. I was just astounded as you when she did not come. It was I whom pleaded with Balin, telling Thorin must write to her. I never foresaw this…”

“Yes, of course,” Kili said sourly. “None of us did. Certainly not me. I would never dream she would forsake me and yet she has. I was always a fool, wasn’t I?”

“No,” Bofur said simply. “I do not think you were. I don’t think you are.”

“Bofur,” he scoffed. “Do you think Tauriel loved me?”

“Aye,” he replied.

The word was so sincerely and plainly said that it cut into the air sharply, scathing Kili’s cynicism at once. He was, at once, lost for words. _How can he believe that?_ he wondered. _How can he know that?_

“How do you know?” Kili asked.

“I just know,” Bofur replied candidly. “It’s a sort of thing you feel in your bones. Do you think she loved you?”

No one have ever asked him that question out loud. He berated himself with it, of course, but the question had never been posed so quickly and so simply. And therefore, he did not think when he answered.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, without doubt.

“Do you think she _loves_ you?” he asked again.

“Yes,” he answered again.

“Then, why do you ask what you already know?”

Kili continued rowing and said naught, for he could not speak for what was left of the trip. There was nothing he could think worth saying after what had been spoken. It was _everything_ that had been said. Everything he needed to know. The truth was both blinding and binding. It was at last when they arrived at the shores of the Lonely Mountain that he finally spoke.

“I must go to Mirkwood, mustn’t I?”

“Aye,” replied Bofur. “Aye, you must.”

* * *

He was packing his things when the King stormed into his room.

“You are going to where?” he demanded.

“I am going to Mirkwood,” the prince replied. “You already know that, Thorin.”

Thorin was not pleased at all with his response or tone.

“Bofur told me and I did not believe me him,” he said. “Please tell me, what is this folly of yours?”

“No, folly,” Kili replied nonchalantly. “I just have questions that need to be answered.”

“What questions?” Thorin asked. “You read the letter. You know what there is to know.”

“I have questions that cannot be answered by you,” he said simply. “I need to know the truth. If she does not love me, then I need to hear it from her.”

“You are mad, nephew,” Thorin continued. “Why are you travelling all the way just to have your hopes crushed right in front of your eyes? I have told you, she’s not in Mirkwood. She is traveling with her elf prince—”

“Then, I’ll be there to greet her when she returns,” Kili said with amusement. “I’m sure that nothing would make me happier.”

Thorin sighed. “So, you wish to see her return with her elf prince? Within a year? Years? Engaged perhaps? Married? Is this your plan, my sister-son?”

“In truth, it doesn’t have sound bad when you say it,” he retorted. “I surely prefer it over moping around the Mountain. Pretending to be something I have no desire to be.”

“Pretending?” Thorin asked incredulously. “No, _you_ are a prince. There’s no pretending.”

“No, _you_ are a king,” Kili replied. “I am merely your nephew.”

“And that makes you a prince!” he exclaimed.

Just then, both Balin and his mother entered his chambers. Kili took no notice of them, but Thorin sought their help immediately. “Balin, please tell him,” Thorin pleaded.

“Laddie, please…” Balin began.

“No,” Kili interjected. “Forgive me, but I have made up my mind about this.”

“Kili, won’t you listen to reason?” his mother said. She reached for his cheek and tilted his face towards her. Her face was care worn and alarmed, but stern. And fierce. She was always fierce. She wanted the truth. She wanted answers.

“I have been listening to reason,” he told his mother. “I have been listening to reason for these past months and have been the most miserable I have been in my entire life. Mother, you’re right. I have been false. I am broken. I am sad, most wretched, and I have lived in a lie. I must seek her. I must set things right. Whether she loves me or not, it matters naught. All I want is to be freed from doubt. From both love and dreams. Please, understand.”

His mother did not cry, nor did she argue or chastise. Instead she smiled and nodded, her eyes shining with pride. “I knew there was something wrong with you.” Then with a smirk upon her lips, she added, “Again, I am right, and you are a most mischievous son.”

Kili was surprised and yet again he was not. He grinned. “Nothing ever gets past you.”

“Dis!” his uncle interrupted.

“Oh, stop it, Thorin,” she snapped at her brother. She, then, turned to her son once more, “Oh, I have never wanted this for you, Kili. You were never raised for this. But you have done what you could and now you must do as you must.”

“Do as he must?” Thorin asked bewildered. “Dis, he is not a child going after a rabbit or a fish. He is a prince!”

“Surely he is,” Dis said. “A most wretched thing, too. A poor material to be king. Frankly, Thorin we cannot have two wretched kings under this mountain. It is only one mountain.”

Kili smiled and thanked his mother with all his heart. His love for her was no more strong than it was then and there. “Thank you, mother,” he said once again.

The Princess of Erebor only nodded and took both of his hands. “I give you my permission to go. It may be that your King might not give you leave, but your princess, your princess does so.”

“Dis, you are just as impossible and mad!” Thorin snapped at his sister.

“Oh, of course, where do you think he gets it from?” she remarked, leaving both her son and her brother. 

The King looked like he was about to explode. “Balin, won’t you say something?”

The old dwarf looked at Kili. He rested his hand on his shoulder and spoke firmly. “Your uncle is right. However, I believe we must always respect the mother’s wishes. I do not deem it wise, but good luck, laddie.”

And he left swiftly, both giving the King a look of apology and Kili one of understanding. Thorin stood in the middle of the room, dumbfounded and deserted.

“Uncle, I promise I will come back,” Kili began, “regardless of the outcome.”

The King sat down and shook his head. Kili noticed how heavy the crown looked on him. “No, you may not. I cannot allow you to do such folly.”

“Are you banishing me?” he asked calmly.

“No, _you_ are banishing me,” his uncle responded. “You are abdicating.”

“I am not doing such thing,” Kili argued.

“Yes, you are,” Thorin rebuked. “You know the rules, the customs… You know you are the Prince and you cannot marry an elf. If it comes to that and all your wonderful, sweet, tender, foolish dreams come true, you cannot marry the elf. It is not custom, and it will not stand with the other dwarf lords.”

Kili understood the weight of his words. “I know. And yet I still must go through with it. I cannot deny my heart—”

“Your heart?” Thorin asked incredulously. “Your heart? What about the kingdom’s heart? Your brother’s heart? My heart? Do you know how much I have given up for the sake of our people? For the sake of our line? To see Durin’s Folk rise once more? I have denied my heart that much and more. You have denied nothing.”

The prince knew not what to say. He had never seen his uncle so torn, so honest, so vulnerable. So much so that he was moved and he knelt at his king’s feet.

“I am not like you,” he said finally. “You must know that. If not, now you know that. Fili was most like you.”

“Yes,” the king said solemnly. “That’s why you were always my favorite. You were wilder, a lot more free-spirited than I ever could be.” He saw his uncle’s face turn into a smile, and yet it was a sad one. “Believe me, my sister-son, I wished nothing but happiness and goodness upon you since Dis brought you into the world. I do not advise you at ill will or because of darkness in my heart, I speak to you from reason and truth.”

“And I’m listening,” Kili said. “But I will not abide. I will not bend. I am not easily persuaded. The line of Durin is not so easily broken, especially in their mad wills.”

His uncle smiled weakly, “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Then, the King rose again and spoke, “You will be allowed to leave, but I’m not certain you will return.”

Kili was overjoyed. “I promise I will, uncle—"

“No, please do not promise me what you will not keep,” the king interjected. “I must tell you something. Something you were bound to find out sooner or later.”

His face was darkened and Kili was afraid, at once. _There is shame in his face_ , he thought. _No, it cannot be._

“What is it, Uncle?” Kili asked bravely. “What have you kept from me?”

“The letter…,” he began.

 _No_ , Kili thought. “You didn’t write to her.”

“No, I did.”

“You lied to her.”

“I did. I said Fili lived and you died.”

“Just as it should have been.”

“Yes. But that was not my intention,” said Thorin.

“Then, what was it?” Kili asked with anger. “Was there even a reason or are you just false and spiteful against your kin?”

He had never spoken so ill to his uncle. Only when the Dragon Sickness had descended upon him and only when he had called for butchering, had Kili stood up to his king. Now, he felt bewildered enough to stand against him, to call him foul and false, he was ashamed to call him his kin.

“I had to,” the King said softly. “For the reasons I have explained to you. You cannot marry this maid. Even if she loved you back, Kili, you cannot. If you do, our line ends there. And if I am right, if she does not love you—"

“You have betrayed me,” he repeated.

The King continued regardless, “If she does not, you will only further humiliate and hurt yourself. Oh, tell me, sister-son, if I am so villainous, why do I dare tell you this right now? What do I have to gain except your fierce hatred?”

“I do not know, and I do not care what you have to gain,” Kili spit back.

“No, nor do you see,” he said. “Tell me, if she loves oh so very well why does she goes West with her Elven-Lord and Prince? Have I also set her on this path? Do I control her will?”

“No,” Kili said trying to remain steadfast. “She goes because she does not know I live. It is plain enough.”

“Are you certain?” asked the King carefully. “Are you truly certain?”

“It does not matter,” Kili retorted. “It matters naught. Naught matters but your falseness. You are a most vile liar and you have lied to me for no reason—"

“No reason?” Thorin echoed, finally taking offense. “My reasons are everything: our kingdom, our people, you.”

“Me? Do not speak of me and my well-being. You have kept me away from that which is most sacred to me. How can you stand there and say that you have saved me when the pain has been consuming me alive? When my heart has been pierced and torn to pieces in order for you to have the so-called peace you have wished upon Erebor? Upon your precious kingdom?”

“The pain you have I, too, bear,” the King said sincerely. “It has hurt me to lie to you this way, my sister-son. To have to keep everything from you has worn me thin. Yet you break my heart when you accuse me of malice.”

“No, you have broken your own heart, and in the process, you have broken mine.”

Then, Thorin said nothing. Kili glared at him with disgust and took his leave.

“I beg you,” his uncle said with one final plea. “For the love you bear me as your king and your uncle, stay and think things over. Do not go, Kili.”

Kili stood at the door. He did not move to leave but turned around to face his king. He was trembling with rage but spoke truly to him one last time. “And for the love you bear me as your prince and nephew, do not stop me.”

And Thorin Oakenshield did not. For that was a battle even he would not face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERY SINGLE TIME I GO BACK TO A CHAPTER THINKING OH REWRITING WON'T TAKE SO LONG IT TAKES ME THREE DAYS. AHHHHHH. Either I just write subpar nonsense and truly grind it until it becomes pleasant enough to read, or I just keep adding too much stuff. UGH. 
> 
> Anyway, YAY THEY ARE FINALLY GOING TO EACH OTHER. Thank Mahal and all the Valar. Also can you tell whom my favorite dwarves are???


	10. Wayward Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm moving between POVs so the times (Spring/Summer) will shift. TRAVELING ON MIDDLE-EARTH TAKES A WHILE. The story is published how it is supposed to be told, but for chronological order purposes:
> 
> 1\. Feeling  
> 2\. The King's Letters  
> 3\. Wayward Mountains  
> 4\. Knowing  
> 5\. Lost in the Woods

The wind was cold. It told of the end of summer, but she dared not listen to it. _It is only July,_ Tauriel thought. _There is still summer to come._

June had come and gone in a daze, almost as if she slept through it and only woke up to midsummer. The weather was nice though, she noted. Seldom were mountains pleasant to climb, much less the Grey Mountains, and yet the warm weather had softened the trek. There were no blizzards threatening with frostbite or starvation, only birds singing and trees yellowing. It was only for the brisk cold air that one remembered the snows of winter. But she remembered, she remembered them so well. They clung to her skin, like the snowflakes that rested on Kili’s lips when she had kissed him. _Cold. His kiss was so cold, like this wind._

“Do you reckon we have passed Mount Gundabad, Buri?” asked Frar. The dwarf was dragging behind their company. She was ahead of them by a few steps, followed closely by Bruni and then Buri.

“Aye, I reckon we have,” Buri replied.

“Nay, brother!” Bruni interjected. “We would have seen more orcs had we have passed it.”

“Orcs have not been seen in such a number since the King Under the Mountain returned,” Buri rebuked.

Bruni scoffed as he stroked his axe. “Those are hopeful tales, but I naught put my life in them. These are dark times and we must be alert.”

“And we are, Master Dwarf,” Tauriel said finally. “We are few, but we are mighty foes for any orc, I reckon.”

Bruni only sighed and shook his head. He was still unsure, and he had the right to be so. But whether he was unsure of her or the orcs, Tauriel remained uncertain.

She had sought the dwarves the night after her dream and they had been hesitant to allow her to join their expedition. They claimed it was inopportune and very sudden to admit a new member into their company. But Tauriel insisted with both gold and her own woes. They either took pity on her, or needed the extra coins, she could not say which. Still she supposed they agreed she would be a valuable asset. For any extra weapon, whether it be elven bow or not, was always welcomed through mountains where orcs and other dark things lurked. She was not without fear, of course. Bruni, the dwarf-warrior, was right to fear orcs. However, she feared them less than he, for she now knew there were darker things in the world than orcs. Darker things were there in the world when Luthien Tinuviel willingly faced both Sauron and Morgoth in the flesh but dared not live in it without her Beren.

She had been thinking of the story of Luthien and Beren as of late. A story not perhaps so unfamiliar to hers. Forbidden love, doomed love.... For Luthien was immortal and Beren was not _. What would have happened if Kili had lived?_ she suddenly wondered. Their brief time had made her romanticized every aspect of their relationship. Their meetings, their words, their partings. Everything seemed bittersweet and pure, unblemished by worry or fear. But when the veil of his death was lifted, what was left was still death. If he had survived, their blissful years, if they were even possible, would have been forever marred by the stain of death. For if war or sickness should not claim him, old age would. It would claim him in the middle of the night, or worse, she would simply watch him decay and wither a little more each day. _He would die_ , she mused. _He would die and I would watch. I am no Luthien, I cannot reclaim him._ She was no elven-maid of songs, her kin had never crossed the sea, and her blood was not blessed with magic. When he died, once again, there she would stand and watch. Just like when Bolg’s axe came upon him. Helpless, she would watch. Frozen, she would watch. Her heart breaking for a second, final time _. Dark, are these thoughts. Dark they are and nonsense to consider. He is dead. I watched him die. Once is enough._

And yet why was she here? Upon these Grey Mountains with their cold wind blowing through her hair. Because she dreamed it? Because she hoped? She could neither explain to the dwarves nor to herself why she had come. She was heading east because he had told her so in a dream. Because the Lonely Mountain now beckoned her back. But she could not tell what she would find there. His tomb? _They buried him_ , she remembered. Or perhaps his mother? Would his mother speak to her? Or Prince Fili? Whom was she seeking? _No one_ , she answered. And yet the answer brought no satisfaction.

But as she pondered looking towards the horizon and beyond the Grey Mountains, she felt comforted. The sun was shining brightly upon her face, its kiss sweet and warm against the bleak air. She began to muse on the story the dwarves had told her about the Sun-Maiden and the Moon Prince. The dwarves had begun to relay her stories to the pass the time. Each night by the campfire, they shared songs and legends of their people. These were tales of old, of the first age and beyond, often of Durin I and his kin. They did not lack the excitement of the elven tales nor the romance either. She was particularly fond of their account of how the Moon and Sun came to be, perhaps their own version of Tilion and Arien. However, in their tale, the sun and moon were sentient beings.

There had been a prince, kin of Durin I, who was in love with silver and other precious metals. He dressed in silver robes and his beard was long and white. This was not through age but rather because the prince had been born wise. One day while mining for silver he came upon a most marvelous gem. It was unlike any other jewel for its light blinded and was hot to the touch. So beautiful was it that the prince loved it at first sight. He revered it and yet could not touch it. For much time he wandered in darkness, he forgoed his kingdom, his forgot his name, for he only longed to be close to the gem he could not possess. After a hundred years, roughly half the lifespan of dwarves, Mahal (Aulë, as Tauriel understood) took pity on him. He fashioned the gem into life for only his hammer could bend the jewel. It took the form of a maiden so beautiful and so brilliant that the prince died upon seeing her, his heart stricken with joy and love. The maiden wept for she had loved him in return, as he had spent many nights watching her. The maiden, then, begged the Maker to turn him into a gem so she could hold him for eternity. He obliged her. And yet seeing the gem-maiden hold the white-silver jewel, for the color reflected the prince’s beard, so tightly and lovingly, he could leave things as such. He decided to fashion the maiden back into a gem and put them together for all ages upon the dark sky. And such was their love that gems shined like no gem had shined before. The sun-maiden was hot and burned out the night, the prince was silver and only gleamed because he near his love. Thus, this was the dwarven account of the moon and the sun.

When the story had finished, Tauriel had had both tears in her eyes and a sudden warmth in her heart. For the tale was akin to that of the elves, and she felt as much sorrow for the Sun-Maiden and the Silver Prince as she did for Arien and Tilion. What a sad fate to be either moon or sun in either elven or dwarven myth. She would much rather be Luthien, but again, she was not. Luthien would have been in the halls of Mandos by now, while she, herself, was bound on Arda, on some wayward mountains. _What does it all matter?_ she thought chastising herself. _These are mere stories._ She needed to remain alert and not dwindling on tales or stories. Their road was still long and would be harsh and treacherous. And while the dwarves had chosen a safe path enough through the mountains, Bruni was not wrong to be wary of foes. Orcs would not care what lady in a song she would prefer to be, they would kill regardless if she was Luthien or Elwing or Arien.

“My lady Tauriel,” said Frar interrupting her thoughts. “You mustn’t linger behind.”

Tauriel realized she was now behind both Buri and Bruni, and even a few steps behind Frar. She, then, nodded at the dwarf in response and followed as they began another climb.

* * *

Once noon had come and gone, they settled in for some food and rest. They were having some river trout Bruni had caught when Tauriel noticed Frar preoccupied with some sewing. It was a curious thing she had not seen him do before.

“You sew?” she asked politely.

“Yes,” he said at once. “I work with toys mostly, yes, but the occasion sewing is helpful, too. Who do you think did our robes?”

“He’s not very good,” said Bruni as he finished chugging some water.

Frar eyed him scornfully. “That tunic I mended suits you well enough.”

“Yes, enough,” he replied. “What Frar says is true, elf-lady. When he says he can sew then he can sew. Now, whether it’s good, that’s another matter.”

Buri interjected, “His work is good enough to sell, wouldn’t you say, brother?”

Bruni grunted while Frar smirked. “Is there a piece of clothing that needs mending, my elf-lady?” Frar asked her.

Tauriel thought for a bit before she answered. “Well I don’t know how particularly skillful you are with robes of a different material…”

“Material?” Frar repeated.

“Or patterns,” she continued. “I do have some silk given to me that could be turned into a robe or dress if one so desired, I believe.”

Out of her bag she pulled the silver silk that the Lady of Lorien had given her. She had nearly forgotten she had not left the silk behind in Bree. It was a queer thing to carry, she realized. And yet the dwarves’ eyes grew wide with astonishment.

“My lady,” said Frar, “is that…”

“Elven-silk,” said Bruni.

“Not, just any silk,” observed Buri. “It is most rare for I’ve never seen such a piece. And I’ve encountered various types of silk of the elven trade.”

“Yes, I believe so,” Tauriel agreed. “It is rare and precious for it was given to me by the Queen of Lothlorien herself. I do not know for what purpose yet, but I was advised turn into a piece of cloth I can wear.”

She handed it to Frar who cradled it gently in his arms. “It is most soft and precious,” he said.

“And, look, for it glows silver in light,” she pointed out.

But as the dwarf held it to the light of sun, the silk remained as white as ever. “Perhaps you are mistaken, my lady Tauriel,” Buri said.

“Perhaps you were cheated,” scoffed Bruni.

“No, I saw it myself before. It glowed as silver as the moon,” she said.

“A trick of the eyes,” Bruni offered.

“Or perhaps it glows only silver in the light of the moon or by the light of the night,” said Buri. “I’ve heard some elven-silk has those properties.”

“Yes,” Tauriel observed. “That must be it. Perhaps it was night when I first beheld its silver color.”

Even in the light of the day, the silk was white and beautiful to behold. Frar seemed rather pleased with it. “Could you…” Tauriel began. “Could you make into a robe or a dress, perhaps?”

Frar nodded fiercely. “Oh, yes! I mean I could try. It is an honor to tend such precious fabric, but my tools are limited. I will try my best, my lady.”

“That I’m sure of,” she said, “and if you do, I shall pay you handsomely.”

“Oh, if I do well the greatest reward would be the gown itself,” said Frar. “For such fine silk would benefit a princess! And to be able to make something worthy of such a deed, that would be the reward itself.”

There was something quite prideful in Frar’s eyes. After all, dwarves were notoriously obsessed craftsmanship of any kind. They called Aulë, Maker, a word she had deduced Mahal meant in dwarvish. For them, it seemed making something was the reward itself. She also noted it would be rare for any elf to wear something of dwarven craft. She did not underestimate the dwarves and their craft, however. For all Elves knew of the sturdiness and quality of dwarven trade. Though she had never thoroughly observed their clothes, she believed they could do no less well than their weapons and armor. And if Frar was unable to make something of it or if he ended up marring the silk, she would not mourn parting with it. For although special, its purpose to her remained yet unknown.

“Perhaps Frar will have you a dress when we get to the Lonely Mountain,” Buri remarked.

Tauriel smiled kindly. “Yes, perhaps he will.”

“At the pace we are trekking, he’ll have an entire wardrobe,” Bruni grunted.

Both Frar and Buri ignored him. The elder dwarf however looked at her intently. “My elf-lady,” Buri began, “I know I have asked this before, but what do you intent to do when we get to Erebor?”

Tauriel took a deep breath, she had been purposely vague with the dwarves since the beginning of their journey. Though they asked naught, they had hinted at it now and then. Buri, in particular, was keen on inquiring about her relations and duties in Mirkwood. He had done this in hopes of perhaps uncovering why an elvish Captain of the Guard was heading to the Lonely Mountain. Especially when said captain had just journeyed from it. It was a strange affair indeed and Buri was not above being suspicious.

“I really cannot say…” she said at last.

“Did you get any particularly important or urgent information?” Buri asked.

“Yes…,” she mused. “As a matter of fact, I did. It was imperative, then and there, that I return back home. Although Mirkwood is truly my home...”

She began to realize her decision to go to Erebor and face King Thorin without the advice or council of Thranduil was most unwise. She was not on particularly friendly terms with the King Under the Mountain. And although she knew Thranduil to be much less, she reasoned his council would benefit her. After all, no letter had been returned as of yet. Legolas had remained near Bree and had reported to her that much. It had been months since and she reckoned she would not receive any. Perhaps she would not be welcomed at Erebor either. That much was clear by the King’s silence.

“But perhaps I should go to Mirkwood first,” she concluded from her thoughts. “Before I go to the mountain, I mean.”

“I would deem it wise,” Buri said lighting his pipe. “Though I admit, I am still curious of the nature of your visit to Erebor. Would you happen to have business with the king?”

_The king, no. With a prince, perhaps_ , she thought. She wondered if Prince Fili would grant her an audience. Did he even know who she was? “No, I do not. I suppose my business is not one that is expected.”

“Bah,” said Bruni with distaste. He remained ever untrusting of her, and much less since she would not disclose why she was travelling with them. Though she was certain he thought not of her as an enemy, he did not regard her a friend either.

“Well, then, keep your secrets,” Buri said good-naturedly. He seemed to have his suspicions and dare not voice them until he had concrete evidence to support them. Tauriel decided to linger her silence on the matter.

It seemed Buri was about to speak again when out of the heavens came a black shadow. As it descended upon them, however, Tauriel realized it was no shadow. The black bird was a large winged beast yet very graceful. The raven perched itself upon Buri’s forearm and cawed loudly. Yet, the raven quickly dropped his cawing and out his beak came out some language foreign to her ears. To her astonishment, Buri did not only laugh but spoke back in response. In a matter of minutes, him and the raven were engaging in a full fledge conversation. She understood naught but considered it, nonetheless, wonderous to behold.

“Are you amazed, my elf-lady?” asked Buri with laughter.

“Well, yes!” she responded. “I knew the ravens of Ravenhill could speak Westron, and much has been said of their intelligence, but this? I do not understand.”

“Why the Ravens of Ravenhills speak Dwarvish well. Albeit with a heavy accent,” Buri explained.

“It is quite heavy and loads of dwarves don’t understand them half of the time,” Frar added. “But Buri can.”

“Bah, riotous birds,” Bruni said. At this the raven took some offense for it drew its black wings and blew air towards the dwarf. The raven followed this act with some other dwarven words. Both Frar and Buri chuckled while Bruni only scoffed at the bird.

“What did he say?” asked Tauriel with amazement.

“He said ‘most fat and loathsome dwarf’,” Frar cackled.

She could not help but smirk at this. “Does he speak Westron? Perhaps another language?”

“No,” Buri explained. “Most Ravenhill birds speak only dwarvish for it’s the only language that is useful to them.”

“But how did he know where to find you? Or find us?” Tauriel asked curiously.

“We have relatives who traveled to Erebor before us,” Buri said. “They have sent us Daov to bring us tidings of what goes on. It’s a way of us dwarves to communicate.”

Tauriel was in awe of both the bird and dwarven system. “What else has he said to you, Master Buri?”

“Well, he brings news of Erebor, naturally,” Buri said. “He mentions the King is well and that Prince Kili has also regained back his health—”

A shiver ran up her spine. The name was sacred to her and yet its utterance sounded foreign to her ears. It stirred her heart awake at once. “Pardon? You misspeak. Surely you mean Prince Fili?”

“Oh, yes, let me correct myself,” Buri replied. He once again spoke to the bird who answered back. “Oh no, Daov said he said Prince Kili.”

Tauriel looked with puzzlement at the raven. “Master Raven, surely you are mistaken. For it was Prince Fili that survived and not his younger brother.”

Buri translated her words to the raven who only grew agitated and flapped his wings. “He says you offend him. For he does not need to be repeated things twice and the name he is certain is Kili, not Fili.”

Her heart now began to race. Doubt took her at once. “Are you certain?” she asked Buri almost in a whisper. “Are you certain this is what he is saying?”

Buri briefly considered it. “Well, it could be the accent that I’m mishearing. After all, Kili and Fili are remarkably similar in sound. But if I may, I do recall having this exchange with you before as I remember reading the prince name as Kili, not Fili.”

“Bah, what does it matter?” Bruni interjected. “Kili or Fili, it’s all Durin’s Folk. A prince is a prince.”

“No, it does matter,” Tauriel rebuked. “It matters to me. It is a very grave matter.”

Such was the sternness of her tone and look upon her face that Buri spoke at once. “You know him.”

“Yes,” she answered without thinking.

“You know Prince Kili,” he repeated.

“Yes, I _knew_ him. He died. I was there.”

All the dwarves grew quiet, even the raven grew solemn. Buri nodded and addressed the raven once more. The raven replied quickly and without hesitation. “He says he knows naught of ghosts. The Prince Under the Mountain is certainly no ghost says he. For Daov has seen him many times. He has seen the prince both in moonlight as well as sunlight. Real as himself he claims him to be.”

Tauriel did not know what to say. “Do you believe him?” she asked finally.

“Yes,” said Buri, “I believe in what he says, but, then, again I understand how little sense it makes to you.”

“It cannot be,” she only said in response. She, then, bit her lip and stood up. She walked away from both raven and dwarf. From both lie and truth.

* * *

The night had fallen, and it was bleak. The stars were sparse and the moon thin, growing ever so black. 

Tauriel took the first watch while the dwarves rested. Even the stars could not comfort her. They seemed false and surreal. Everything seemed surreal, as if she were wandering in a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare, a strange nightmare where all her dreams came true. But only because these dreams would be destroyed at the very end. A nightmare, yes, a nightmare it would turn out to be. She pondered and pondered. The raven couldn’t possibly be right. It had to be a mistake somehow, a grievous error perhaps from translation or the raven’s own err eyesight. Or perhaps… Perhaps what he said was true and there were strange, wonderous things afoot. For if he lived, her heart would quicken. For if he lived, she could be well. For if he lived… _No, it’s ridiculous. Lies, all lies_ , she thought. She was in half-agony, half-hope. She wanted to believe, so deeply, so desperately, and yet her thoughts would not let her. Reality was bitter but truth it was. This belief, this sudden new revelation, was just an unfortunate misunderstanding. A misunderstanding which tore at her heart, nonetheless.

She ached and ached. Each conclusion let her astray. If he lived, she suffered from having thought he was dead, and if he was dead, she suffered from having thought he was alive. There was no middle ground, there was only shadow or doubt. Pain or grief. She did not know what to think upon any longer. This was when Buri came to her.

The dwarf was silent, at first, when he sat next to her. But then he spoke: “What is it that you fear, my lady?”

“Pain. More pain than I have been in,” she replied at once. “For I have suffered so much and this, if it were true, would leave me to suffer more. I am torn and yet I do not think I can handle another false hope.”

Buri stood quiet for a brief moment. “But if it is not false?”

“It matters naught, I have been already grieving the possibility that it is true,” she answered.

“Wouldn’t the news be joyous to your sad heart?” Buri asked with curiosity.

“Only half of it. For the other half would mean I was wrong about his death. And that have been purposely kept in the dark regarding the truth,” she replied.

“That you have been kept apart, on purpose,” the dwarf finished.

“Yes. And…” she said. She suddenly realized the conversation she was having and how Buri had somehow inferred all this. “How do you know? How do you know about him? About me?” _About us._ She wanted to say it but couldn’t.

Buri smiled lightly. “You are not very subtle,” he replied. “You wear your heart on your sleeve. Your eyes speak, your words betray you, your acts reveal you.”

Tauriel felt ashamed. She knew not how she behaved when her mind was focused on him. When Kili consumed her thoughts, she felt different and strange. _Alive_ , she mused. _Alive and well. Everything falls away and only he remains._

“Do not be sorry,” Buri said with sympathy. “For all those who love, fall prey to their own heart and are left undone by it. You are no exception.”

“You must think poorly of me,” she said. “You must think me mad…or that is unnatural.”

“I do find it strange,” he admitted. “Odd? Yes, very. Unheard of, even. There are no stories that tell of such things, at least for my people. And yours?”

She thought carefully and then answered. “Many. Melian, the maia, and Thingol, the elf. Luthien, their kin, and Beren, the man. It seems to happen very often in our stories.”

“Curious,” said Buri.

“Yet it is not quite the same,” she revealed. “Men are the second Children of Ilúvatar, we are the first. Dwarves are…”

“…Children of Mahal,” he answered.

“Yes, Aulë. Though he still a Valar and of Eru, it is, nonetheless, different,” she said wistfully

“Yes,” said Buri, “I believe you are right, Lady Tauriel.”

“Yes, I am. Even if he lives, if… If what the raven said is true and not a falsehood that we have befallen to, it is still impossible to consider… to think. It is still hopeless,” she confessed. Kili’s death had spared her from this truth, of the reality of their races and births. _“I know how I feel, I’m not afraid”_ , he had said. But did he understand? Did they both understand? Or had they been blinded by a pure, childish love that knows no reason? _No reason and no future_ , she thought.

A sad silence befell, and it was long before Buri finally spoke. “While it might not be the time, I do believe you owe me a story.”

“A story?” she asked confused.

“Yes,” he said, “I told you about the Sun-Maiden and the Silver Prince, now you must bring forth your own elvish tale.”

She managed a tiny smile. “Yes, I do believe. I shall tell you a very old one. A happy one, for a change. I shall tell you of Beren and Luthien.”

“Oh, yes,” said Buri with interest. “I have heard the tale many times, but never told by an elf. Please do.”

And so, she told the tale in full. She told it as it had been told to her, she told it with both grief and glee. Buri responded with delight and sadness. He gasped when Beren took upon the wolf and even shed a tear when Luthien went to reclaim Beren from Mandos. At the very end, Buri seemed to be uplifted by it, for he spoke with gladness upon his heart. “It is indeed a happy one.”

“Although some might consider it sad,” Tauriel explained. “For Luthien chose a mortal life and those carry much sorrow within them.”

“Yes,” said Buri. “I suppose so. But at least they remained together… Oh, to be Beren and gaze upon your lover in the forest!”

Tauriel laughed, “You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you, Master Buri?”

“Truly? I believe all dwarves are. But some are more secretive than others,” he said with a smirk.

“How did you meet your love?” she asked.

“I came upon her in moonlight, she was beautiful. Her hair was gold and she laughed heartily,” he said. “She still does.”

“It’s odd how it happens so fast,” she mused. “Love, I mean. It takes a hold of you, does it not? It never seems to let go.”

“Yes, but lucky are those who taste the bittersweet,” Buri mused. “For its sweetness rivals that of any fruit on Middle-Earth. Well, it’s my watch, my lady. Get some rest.”

Tauriel thanked him and began to walk away when the dwarf addressed once again. “If I may offer a comforting thought… If this is true, what our friend, Daov, said then you are much more fortunate than the lady Luthien.”

She was perplexed. “How so?”

“For you have not had to go to Death himself to get your love back. He has returned him to you willingly. Aye, you are most fortunate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known that ravens are most trustworthy and never tell lies.


	11. Lost in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pairs best with "Lost in the Woods" from the Frozen 2 soundtrack. Truly.

The air was dense. The forest thick, and though the sun still shined behind the barks of trees, it was warm enough to where the air had a suffocating quality to it. _I hate these woods_ , Kili thought.

He did know how he had convinced himself to come alone. But he had to… or else they would have followed. Both Bofur and Ori had volunteered to come along. And even Balin had stepped forward, facing Thorin’s wrath, no doubt. The thought still pleased Kili in memory. They had all agreed to come and he had let them come on his journey. That was until a certain point. They had traveled through Dale, the remains of Laketown, and, finally, they had stood together once more at the edge of Mirkwood. Here he had dismissed his companions graciously. He felt this task was meant to be performed alone, and moreover these were woods were treacherous. He could not risk his friends once more. Perhaps Thorin’s quest for Erebor was worth it. But his love for Tauriel, as noble and lofty a cause, was his own. He had made this decision and while as their friend they resisted, as their prince they accepted. _I cannot let them do this for me_ , Kili mused. _It is reckless enough what I’m doing..._

He now admitted bitterly to have taken the passage through the kingdom of the elves might have been wiser. After all, Thranduil by all sense of propriety would have been forced to welcome him. And yet he did not trust the king. Thorin had forsaken him, why would the Elven King be any different? They both could be in alliance with each other, keeping him and Tauriel apart deliberately. And why not? The theory did not seem far-fetched. If Thorin wanted to keep a Durin’s Folk, or rather dwarven, line pure, Thranduil could well want the same. He even could possibly want Tauriel to marry his son. Or perhaps his part in Thorin’s dark scheme was that the mere concept of a Dwarven and an Elven union repulsed him completely. Why would _his_ elves mate with dwarves? What would their worlds be coming to? No, the kings, as vast in their differences, remained rather alike in both minds and prejudices. _I shall not turn to those liars_ , he concluded. _I rather die in these wretched woods than turn myself over to their farce._ The most prudent thing to do, he reckoned, would be to commend himself to the woods and fate itself. He would seek Tauriel on his own terms. He would find her and speak to her directly. Yes, this was the only right course of action. No letters that could be withhold. No messengers with grievous intentions. No kings playing their game of politics, nor their race purity. No, he would seek her and see her and speak to her. And the truth would be revealed, and their love, at last, finally fulfilled. Yes, this was the only way. Yet it was not the easiest.

Despite carrying a map of Mirkwood, a map which Ori had acquired for him from the library of Dale, travelling the woods was troublesome. The map was quite old and had seen better days. The writing was even sometimes blurry and hard to read. To make matters worse, he had never been any good with maps, that had been task always given to Fili in their scoutings. _If Fili was here it would be simpler,_ Kili thought. _That or he would scold me for being so dense._ So, there he was, past noon in the forest of Mirkwood with a map and no sense of direction. Even his compass seemed pointless. Yet his heart wavered naught, for it was set on a fixed course, one true star. _And the star does not waver._

For now, he knew the truth, the whole truth, and it gave him absolute certainty of his love for her and hers for him. She had written those words unaware of his existence, unaware that he was alive, and the lack of urgency came from the belief he had indeed perished. If the opposite was now true, then it meant she did not come because she simply did not know. She had never known. His dreams made perfect sense now. Her actions were clearer now as well, for she had parted from him because she did not know he remained. His faith had been thoroughly rekindled with Thorin’s confession. On the other side, so had his wrath been thoroughly set ablaze. He could not have ever believed his uncle would go on to betray him so shamelessly. Furthermore, he could not believe he would lie to him so effectively. Had Kili not been moved with blind love to seek her, would the lie still persist? Would the lie remain for evermore? How long did Thorin plan this to last? He did not want to know the answer for he felt he knew it.

One fine surprise, however, had been the company’s reaction. They have all seemed to take Kili’s side when all was revealed. And yet they condemned Thorin silently for they dared not judge him aloud. In truth, he did not want to know whether it was that they agreed with Thorin’s worldview and it was merely the lie that displeased them. This, he dared not ask for fear of being proven correct. His mother was greatly vexed with her brother but was much more understanding than Kili had been. “He loves you well,” she had told him, “it is Thorin’s fault that he sometimes loves too well.” But his mother’s words did not satisfy him. To him, the act had not come from love but from fear. Fear of the unknown and what lay ahead, fear of the future and what it might bring. To Kili, all his uncle had done was thinking what his nephew wanted but never asking him. _And all have done the same_ , he thought. _No one asked what I wanted. They thrust me this crown and told me to wear it. They have all wanted me to please them. To please Thorin. To please the kingdom. I am done with it all._ If worst came to pass and all of Thorin’s threats came true, he would be banished and be prince no more. The thought of it was rather pleasant. He did not wish to disappoint his mother, and yet he could not deny that his heart had greatly longed for it. For to live in banishment with Tauriel was more a blessing than a curse. A sweet blessing that Mahal, if he be so kind, would bestow upon him. He wondered if she would feel the same? It was then he reached to feel the rings in his pocket.

He had left Erebor in a hurry and yet he had found time for them. After he had stormed out of his chambers following his uncle’s confession, he had come upon Bofur and Ori. They had, no doubt, overheard the conversation by the embarrassed look upon their faces. It did not shock Kili but at this point, he reckoned all Erebor had whisperings of it. Yet his friends tried to comfort him, nonetheless. His anger could not be soothed so easily, however. He both loathed and loved Thorin. Loathed in action and loved him memory. Perhaps this was where the pain came from. It is hard to hate those you love, and his friends’ words did him no good. And yet, it was then, while looking at Ori holding onto his books, that the thought came to him. Something stirred beyond the feelings of wrath and betrayal: love. A more potent love than the one he bore for Thorin.

“Ori,” he began. “What is it you said about elven rings?”

Ori looked at him quizzically, while Bofur knew it at once. “Fire up the furnace?” he asked Kili.

He only nodded in response.

“Silver or gold?” Bofur inquired.

“Silver,” Kili said. “Like my crown.”

“A fine choice,” he replied. “I’d advise you use the batch from last month. It sparkles like the Arkenstone itself once polished.”

“No, the rings shall come from reforged silver.”

“Hm, I suppose we do have one or two pretty chalices we aren’t using? A necklace perhaps?”

“No, my crown,” the Prince said.

Ori went pale and Bofur’s eyes widen in awe. “Kili, you cannot be serious,” he insisted. “It is a prized thing. A kingly gift. Thorin gave it to you.”

“And I shall return the gift,” Kili said. “We only need make two small rings. Much silver shall be left. The rest shall be given to my uncle as my own _last_ princely gift. A chalice or a necklace perhaps? A letter opener?”

Bofur shook his head and yet he managed a small grin. “Very well, lad. Though I’d say he won’t like that gift much. Say naught that we knew of this.”

Kili never found out whether he did or not. They left Erebor by morning. And yet, what remained of the crown was precious enough for him. The two rings were pure silver and sparkled white in sunlight. He had engraved them both with dwarvish symbols, as well other elven ones he found in Ori’s book. The size mattered not, he supposed, for rings could be re-forged and adjusted to the wearer. On one, however, there was a particular engraving inside. _Amrâlimê_ , it read in his own tongue. _She will know what it means_ , he thought. _That or I shall tell her with a kiss._

He was dreaming of said kiss when he came upon a river. Its water was cool, and it quenched his thirst enough. He took the time to look at his map once more. It was no doubt useless for he could not tell whether he was North or South of Thranduil’s kingdom. He supposed he was well away for he had seen no elf. And he had not seen spiders either, that he was much more grateful for. An elf could be a nuisance to his cause, but spiders would be most deadly. And he had naught Tauriel to save him. He supposed he could continue West but to what point? In truth, he had not thought this out as thoroughly as he had wanted. He knew he sought Tauriel, yet he did not know where she was. It was no lie, he had found out, that she had journeyed west but he had heard no more of it. _Is she still west?_ he asked himself _. Search for her. Wait for her. What if she returns not for years? What if she returns wed?_ Thorin’s sharp words cut him deeper than he would have liked. What if his cause was lost? Was losing his crown worth it? _Yes_ , he answered touching the two rings in his pocket. _Anything is worth Tauriel’s love and more._ Yet the forest vexed him. He felt had been walking in circles for the past hours and if night were to fall, the spiders would surely feast on him. While Kili had boldly told Thorin he would gladly wait years in the woods, like many of elven tales of old, he realized he would not survive very long. He was ill-prepared and unequipped for such a task. He carried a bow, a few blades, and a good sword, but would it suffice? His fighting skills, he felt, had not fully returned. He had lied to the others, in retrospect, when he had dismissed them. For once he felt a sudden worry. _If only Fili were with me…_

A branch broke. He heard the sound but made no gesture to move. Someone was near. Someone was watching him. _Or something_ , he shivered, remembering the spiders. He brushed the helm of his sword. If he was to die, once more, he would not go without a fight. Before his sword left its sheath, an elf was upon him. His arrow aimed at his head.

Kili remained steadfast and made no sudden movements. The elf seemed amused by the surprised look on his victim’s face. He spoke naught but others emerged from the woods. They were all armed. He was clearly outnumbered. _I should have not left the others_ , he thought. If fighting was useless at this point all he had left was words. And he planned to use them wisely.

“Kill me,” he said boldly. “Kill me and the king will have your head.”

The elf laughed in return. “I serve no king,” he said without moving the arrow pointed at his head.

“The King Under the Mountain will care naught if you serve him or not. He will still gladly take your head.”

“I fear no dwarf king.”

“Then perhaps you will fear the wrath of your liege. King Thranduil will not like to hear you killed a dwarven prince.”

The elf chuckled. The other elves echoed his laughter. He scoffed at Kili, “We are not serfs of Thranduil. We serve no king in the mountain or in the woods.” 

Kili looked at the elves once more and he saw they were not the Mirkwood elves that had descended upon his company last fall. They were wilder in appearance. Their clothes were brown and bore no ornaments or crests. Their weapons were well-made yet unpolished. _They are no serfs of Thranduil_ , he repeated in his head. _They serve him naught. They serve none but themselves._ A chill crept up his back, for the first time he was afraid of these elves. He glanced once again to his attacker. The elf with the arrow was particularly striking. He had long brown hair and fiery eyes. A scar upon his left cheek branded him a warrior, no doubt. Kili denoted a fierceness within his foe, one he dared not provoke. The elf greeted his look with disgust, yet he spoke with bemusement. “But prince you say? To me all dwarves look the same. Short, greedy, ugly… although a bit more resourceful than goblins. What makes you the prince of them?”

Despite his better judgement, Kili felt hot with rage. “I am a prince by blood! The line of Durin lies within my blood. I am of Durin’s Folk and I will not let you offend my people.” He stirred but only to be reminded of the arrow that lay between them. The other elves quickly responded by pulling out their own arrows.

“You are bold,” said the elf. “And stupid. This manner of stupidity can only come from that of a prince. Indeed, I have seen the same false sense of superiority in the Sindar and their kin.”

“I am not kin to either the Sindar or any elf,” Kili replied hotly.

“Even Thranduil?” asked the elf mockingly.

“I serve him as much as you,” he answered bitterly.

“Ah, there is your lie and your death sentence, dwarf,” he said. “For although we do not serve Thranduil, we would not dare provoke his rage. Your confession tells us we would not be at fault if we killed you.”

“Oh, how I longed to be killed,” Kili replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. “For you have bored me with your talk. I did not know elves were capable of speaking such nonsense. It is not true they are the wisest of races.”

This angered the elf for his arrow quivered slightly. “Be careful with your words, dwarf. You have only but a few left.”

“Then, do tell me, elf,” he said. “What is the name of my murderer? What is the name of he whom attacks me unaware, unarmed, and outnumbered? For I shall spite the name when my headstone is carved. ‘Here Lies Kili Heir of Thorin II, slain by so and so’. I shall choose a worthy foe for that is the dwarven way. We do not slay those that cannot protect themselves. I might even lie and choose a dragon or spider. Any of them would be much more honorable—”

“Enough!” yelled the elf. “These were your last words…”

“No,” said Kili solemnly. “ _This_ is my last word: _Tauriel_.”

He shut his eyes and let the arrow come _._ He felt stupid for having spoken so rashly. He felt stupid for having come all this way. All he felt but only _Tauriel_ echoed in his thoughts. _I am sorry,_ he thought _._ He waited for death to greet him once again, but no arrow came. Just silence. _No, murmurs_. He heard murmurs. At last, his murderer spoke. “Tauriel? You speak of her as if you know her.”

Kili opened his eyes and saw the arrow no longer pointed at him. The elf had withdrawn it, while all the other elves were gazing at Kili quizzically. He took a deep breath and said a prayer to Mahal silently in his head. “Yes,” he told his captor. “I know Tauriel. I know her very well. I come seeking her.”

The elf’s fiery eyes widen, it took a few seconds before he replied. “I don’t know how you know her, but you should know she has not been seen in Mirkwood in months. She left with the prince. Legolas Greenleaf, I mean. She left to seek him, that she said to me the last time we spoke.”

“You know Tauriel!” Kili said without thinking. “How is she? Is she well?”

The elf ignored his questions and continued to look at Kili intently, almost as if searching for an answer himself. At last, it seemed he came upon it for he spoke, “You are _the_ dwarf. The one Tauriel spoke of… You… _You_?”

“Tauriel spoke of me!” Kili exclaimed. His heart was kindled with hope. _She speaks of me, she thinks of me._ “What did she say? When did she leave? What did she say to you the last time you spoke?”

“You?” the elf merely repeated. “I confess I understand her even less now. She is a most strange maid...”

“But, you know her, do you not?” he asked once more eagerly. “Are you a friend of hers?”

“I am,” said the elf, finally putting the arrow back in his quiver. “And for the love I bare her I will not harm you, Prince of Dwarves.”

Those words brought him relief and joy. For a friend of Tauriel, one who loved her well, was a friend of his. He was sparing his life and therefore granting his love with Tauriel a chance. He felt a sudden kinship to the Elf, and because he was still in a slight daze, he could not help but speaking his heart to him. “I love her, too. In fact, I have come here to tell her I love her. You will not believe our story, it is most tragic. Heinous acts have been committed—"

The Elf grumbled and quickly interjected, “We shall not speak of this here.”

This was most wise for a commotion among his people had been roused. They seemed wary of their leader’s decision to spare the dwarf. Some protested but he silenced them with one look. Kili once more thought how fierce his eyes were and how he did not want to cross him. At least, not again. The Elf turned around and addressed him coolly, “Come, Prince of Dwarves, we shall talk in private.”

* * *

They were breaking bread when the sun began to set.

The elf had revealed his name to be Glorindor, a master archer and skilled hunter. He called him and his people the Last Free Silvan Elves of Mirkwood. They were one of the few elves of Silvan blood who had refuted the rule of the Sindarin many years ago. The revelation was queer to Kili whom had not known there were different sorts of elves. Glorindor said they spoke Westron as well as their native Silvan and a bit of Sindarin for trading purposes. However, they rejected both the Sindar as well as their tongue. “They plan to eradicate our language,” Glorindor told him. “And along it our culture. Few remain who speak Silvan in this age. It has been forgotten in favor of Sindarin. But then again, much has been forgotten.”

Kili was beyond perplexed. Different kinds of elves with different tongues. It was a bizarre concept to him as all dwarves spoke one tongue. They were united under the sacred word of their Maker and found it odd the elves would divide themselves with speech. He realized how little he knew of elves. Most of what he knew had been through tales or things he had vaguely remembered reading a long time ago. And of course, ungracious things dwarves were apt to say. “But it is not forgotten, is it?” Kili offered still chewing on his bread. It wasn’t exactly flavorful, but then again such was accustomed in elvish food. “For those who remain remember…Surely then all is not lost?”

The elf lit his pipe. Kili found it curious for he had never seen elves smoke. The pipe seemed stuffed with strange herbs, yet its’ smell was oddly inviting. Glorindor smoked deeply and let out a puff as his eyes were cast on the horizon. “Perhaps. It is strange to live so long and yet have so little left. The more ages you endure, the more you lose. Perhaps I envy you dwarves. You live longer than men, yet you die. You die before all is consumed to time, to sorrow, to evil...”

“Evil?” Kili asked.

“You are most naïve, Prince of Dwarves,” he replied. “Yes, evil now lurks in these woods. Evil that has not walked since the First Age. But now they come. You have seen the spiders, I believe.”

Kili nodded, he did not like those spiders.

“We fight them away. And they return. They return every single time,” Glorindor explained. “Even Thranduil’s guard cannot defeat them. They multiply, their power grows. Something dark grows, hearken my words, Prince of Dwarves. I do not know what, but it grows.”

Kili grew alarmed at his somber words. “In Erebor? In the East?”

“Not in your mountain. Smaug has been defeated. But in the East, yes. South of us something lurks. I’ve heard only murmurs and whispers but yet what I hear puts my heart at unease.”

“Let’s hope these are just whispers and nothing more,” Kili said eagerly. “For it is said, that fear only succeeds when we listen to it’s song.”

“Yes, let us hope,” answered Glorindor with a smile. “You are much different than I expected.”

“How so?” Kili asked taking his last bite of bread.

“For one, I expected dwarves to be dirty and ill-mannered,” the elf said plainly.

Kili would have perhaps taken offense had Glorindor not spared his life. And now he broke bread with him, he even offered him shelter for the night. And so noble it was that his unkind words irked him not. “Well, I surmise you know very few dwarves. Or perhaps just one or two. We are seldom dirty, unless we are mining or at war. Then, we are quite dirty creatures to be sure. And we are seldom ill-mannered, unless we are provoked by unfriendly elves with arrows.”

Glorindor laughed at this. “You speak truth, perhaps they are ill-mannered because of the arrows.”

“Aye, that’ll do it,” Kili said heartily. “We are however most stubborn and relentless creatures. But not as relentless as goblins. I do reckon you did say we are most useful than them?”

“Yes, I did say that,” Glorindor agreed.

“Then I agree,” he replied.

Glorindor smiled once more. “I now began to understand a bit better. Both you and Tauriel…”

Kili contemplated Glorindor, there was something both sad and brave about him. He had only met him but for a few hours, yet he felt himself admiring the elf, nonetheless. He wondered if Tauriel had also had these feelings towards the silvan elf. He also hoped the feelings did not stir further than admiration. “Tell me about Tauriel,” he said intently. “I am perplexed. How do you know her so well when she serves Thranduil herself?”

Glorindor smoked and pondered for a bit before he spoke. “It is a long story or perhaps not so. We are bit different than the elves of Mirkwood. We are Silvan yes, but our blood, at least mine descends from the Avari…”

“Avari?” Kili repeated confused.

“The ones that forsook the light. We did not answer the call of the West. Our blood is of a different kind. Few of us remain now. Very few.”

The words made Kili wistful, for he knew the feeling somewhat. For Durin’s Folks although many yet remained, not as many as they were in the First Age. He began to sympathize with Thorin a bit. His fears were perhaps not much different to Glorindor’s own fears about his race. Glorindor continued, “However, we do not speak of me but of Tauriel. I do not believe she is of Avari descent, but I do not know for sure. Her mother, Deriel, was wild like us. Her father, Calaear, served Thranduil well. They met, however, and they fell in love. Her mother went to her father and to Thranduil…”

“Where are her parents? Do they live yet?” Kili asked for he knew elves lived very long.

“No, they perished in battle,” Glorindor said plainly. “They died honorably. Tauriel does not talk about it. She was only a child.”

Kili’s thoughts went to Tauriel and the great pain she must still bear in her chest. _And at such a young age…_ he mused. He, too, had lost his father as a child but he had had Fili and his mother. They had been comfort enough. They didn’t replace the wound, but they did lessen it. To lose both your parents and have no one to turn to… his heart saddened. He realized how little he knew of Tauriel and her past. Yet, he hoped desperately to remedy it. 

Glorindor took his silence for solemnity and continued. “After her parents died, Tauriel remained with her king but always looked to us as her kin. At the beginning, we were very much close, but we grew apart with time. She began to spend much time with the prince, Legolas. She first brought him over often and Legolas Greenleaf was kind and noble. I have never cared for Thranduil and his pride, but Legolas was different. He was curious about us, about our culture, about our tradition. I grew very fond of him. But the more time I spend with both of them, I began to grow jealous. They had great affection for each other. Indeed, it was I who drifted our friendship apart. I was jealous of her and she would not understand. She was only a child, of course, merely liven three hundred years then. One knows very little of the world at that age. She was stubborn in her bond with Legolas and did not falter from it for my sake. I did not tell her, and she did not understand. She was never any good at it.”

“Good at?” Kili inquired.

“Love,” Glorindor responded with a forlorn smile.

“Were you in love with her?” he asked carefully.

Glorindor looked at him incredulously and, then, laughed. “No. I’m afraid you’re no better, Prince of Dwarves.”

Kili thought for a bit before he spoke again. “Legolas,” he finally said. “Really? But he’s so…he’s quite dull. If I may be frank, you are much more invigorating to speak to. Granted I’ve never really spoken to him, as he has only looked upon me with contempt.”

Glorindor laughed again. “And why wouldn’t he? I always knew he loved Tauriel.”

Kili’s stomach churned at this. “Do you reckon he does?”

“Why not? It seems to me that is the clear answer,” the elf offered.

“Do you think— Do you think she likes him back?”

“Likes him?” Glorindor said amused. “I’m certain she does. Loves him, no, I do not think so. That much was confirmed to me with your death. For she mourned you well. She mourned you profoundly, as one does when one loves.”

His heart stirred upon the elf’s words. “That makes me glad,” Kili said softly.

Glorindor smiled. “I reckon it does, Prince of Dwarves, or else your quest would be most in vain.”

“But how did you know?” Kili asked confused. “About me? About Tauriel? About us?”

“I heard but rumors. Very strange gossip it was. Very few elves believed it. But in her grief, she came to me, for few were who could console her. And she confessed her love. Her love for a dwarf, nonetheless! I was shocked and angry, I admit. For I did not understand how someone could refute Legolas for a dwarf, it seemed like madness itself. But now upon meeting you and speaking to you, perhaps it is not quite as mad as I believed it. And of course, love cannot be reasoned with. Much like the love of Lúthien and Beren.”

“Do you reckon that shall be our fate?” he asked suddenly.

“Well, have you not come back from the death already?” Glorindor said in jest.

“No, I mean… The mortal part.” Kili had never spoken to anyone of it, nor he had thought it over very much. Yet it had been Glorindor’s grief over time that had stricken his heart with angst and worry. _He says I’m lucky because I die before time consumes all_ , Kili mused. _And yet what good is to die when Tauriel will remain? Will she see time consume all? What good is it to leave when she remains on Middle-Earth?_

“Tauriel will not get The Choice,” Glorindor admitted.

“The Choice?” he asked confused.

“The choice of mortality or immortality. You are no child of Ilúvatar. Even us who refuted the light could be blessed with The Choice is we loved one of the Second Children. Men and elves are similar enough. And yet, you…”

“I am not,” Kili said. “Is it doomed then?”

A silence befell them. The sun had finally set, and the sky was an indigo blue with sparse stars in her hair. The air grew cool around them as Glorindor took the last puff from his pipe. “Yes,” he replied with a sad smile. “But it does not make it any less beautiful.”

* * *

The sky turned dark, night had fallen.

The forest’s sky was now fully lit with stars. Even the moon paled in radiance when it came to the jewels in the night. A breeze swept through the trees softly. Kili counted the leaves that flew by. He had been tired and had indeed slept for a few hours. But he had been awoken by the sereneness of it all. Or perhaps the sky was too luminous to pretend to slumber. Glorindor’s camp was comfortable enough, yet sleep had finally left him. There were too many stars to not gaze upon. It was then he decided he would take a night walk and clear his mind. He would walk beneath the stars as Tauriel had before him, and perhaps he, too, would find solace in them.

He walked and walked. The moon kept a constant pace with him. The wind was even quiet from time to time, almost as if it contemplated his thoughts with him. And his thoughts were many. He could not help but think of Glorindor’s words. Tauriel’s immortality had often seem like good thing to him. For it was wonderful that she should live even when he perished. That she would have many years after him, that death would not touch her, that not a single strand of her hair would be tarnished by its cold embraced. It comforted him, he loved her so dearly that he wanted her to live beyond him, but he never thought about the act of actually leaving her. Or how much she would suffer with his death. She had mourned him profoundly as Glorindor had said. She perhaps was mourning him now. He put himself in her place, if it were him who would live years beyond her… The idea was as painful as death itself. To see her wither away while he did not. To see life escape her and him stand powerless before her. It was absolute torture. He dared not think of it any longer. He began to contemplate what he never before…what is this was a mistake? It wasn’t Thorin’s words that rang in his head, but his own. They rang as loudly as ever. _Who are you to submit her to such a fate?_ he asked himself. _She gets no choice, like others before her. Hers is a life of torture where she watches whom she loves most die. Is she to lose another loved one like she lost her parents? Is she to endure another hardship? All for your selfish happiness?_ On the other hand, if Tauriel willingly wanted this and sought this on her own, who was he to deny her? And what about children? Were they to have them? Were they _able_ to have them? Would Tauriel also have to watch her own children perish because their dwarvish blood condemned them to such fate? _It is all sorrow_ , he thought most miserably. _Whatever her will is, or even mine, it is surrounded by heartbreak._

He came upon a lake and sat by there. The light of the fireflies was pretty to look upon, and the sound of water was soothing. They stirred his heart amidst the heaviness of his thoughts. _But perhaps I am too bold,_ he mused. _For who is to say she has chosen such a life? Who is to say she has chosen me?_ Glorindor had spoken highly of her love for him and had gave him hope, yes, but these were all words. Perhaps Tauriel had had the same thoughts he had tonight and had decided differently. Perhaps she had decided his death had been for the best and they were better off apart. _Perhaps she has realized how much folly all this is._ He looked to the East, it was too dark to see the Lonely Mountain but his shape loomed there in the shadows no doubt. _I could go back._ _If I leave now, I could reach Dale by noon. I could return to Thorin. I could tell him that I’m sorry and that I was wrong. I could go back to my mother. I could go back to my old life…_ But how much of a life was it? Would he go back to pretending to be pleased with this said life? Would he return back to his loneliness and sulking? _I am miserable if I go, I am miserable if I stay_. None of the paths were clear and he had nothing else to do but sit and dream. He figured Tauriel would know what to do. Perhaps he would leave it to her to decide…

He woke up… unaware he had fallen asleep. It was still night, but the darkness was waning. The sky had turned a cerulean hue that foretold the sun somewhere in the east had begun to stir. He was cold and confused. He figured he could try to retrace his steps to Glorindor’s camp. _Unless I go West_ , he thought. He did not know why but he felt he need go forward and not back. To seek Tauriel, yes this is why he had come here in the first place. But instead of finding her and bringing her back, he had lost himself. He knew nothing for certain of the future, but he did know one thing. _I love her._ _That I know for certain. That I know for sure._ And perhaps that was enough. Perhaps it would be enough to weather hardship after hardship, both sorrow and despair. If they were together it would all mean something. Perhaps their love was stronger than what he deemed to be true. He felt the rings in his pocket again.

_Perhaps…_ he thought. _Dawn will come soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili making CHOICES since TA 2864.
> 
> Also if you're a conservationist of historical items (whether fictitious or not), like me, rest assure in knowing that silver crown was a newly forged gift. Not some Durin/Erebor family relic. I would have personally killed Kili again if so. Anyway, thank you for your comments and loyal reading. We shall meet again at dawn. MUAHAHAHA.


	12. Dawn, At First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally

She woke up to dawn.

The sun had not yet risen, and yet there was still light all around. The trees were walking in clouds, or so it seemed for fog covered the ground. The birds were not yet singing. The sky was dappled in soft lavender hues and periwinkle blues. It was beautiful and yet she felt strangely eerie.

_Something’s amiss… a dream_ , Tauriel mused as she shifted in her cot. She supposed she should go back to sleep. It was still too early and the kingdom of Thranduil was not far away. _Rest_ , she told herself. _It is nothing. I have trekked too long in the mountains. It is nice to be in the woods. To feel safe. To feel home…_

The trek through the Grey Mountains had been long and arduous. She had travelled with the dwarves for months and she had seen summer past by her. As an elf, she often felt time slip by her too quickly for her to remember it. And yet, with her being away from the woods, she had felt time much more profoundly, much more intensely. Perhaps it was also the memory of Kili that had somehow sped the passage of time, or more likely, the hope of Kili. After what the raven had said, she had felt her belief shaken deeply. It was silly, in truth, to believe someone to be alive after a bird had said so, but what were the reasons for the raven to lie? He had none. If someone had wanted to communicate a false message, what would be the intention of lying to a random group of dwarves? What would be the gain? And she knew that ravens and eagles were not often birds who took sides in petty affairs or wars. She dared not think a raven would lie so deliberately. _A mistranslation_ , she reassured herself. Yes, Buri had misheard, or rather misinterpreted, what the raven had said. And yet there was also Buri’s letter that spoke of Prince Kili of Erebor…

_An error of spelling. All these are acts of cruel chance_ , Tauriel thought. _I held him in my arms. He was dead in my arms. Dead._ She pulled off her cover, the fog was beginning to trouble her, and she could not sleep. Dawn or not, her thoughts were racing faster and faster every time she shut her eyes. Despite of what she wanted to believe she knew reality to be another. She knew what she had seen. The blade piercing him. His eyes losing their spark before her. The coldness of his lips. It was all real. Real like the love she felt for him. Real and utterly bleak. _He cannot be alive. If he was alive, I would know it. If he was alive, I would feel it._ She packed up her camp and began to walk. Perhaps she would reach the elven kingdom before the sunrise. Perhaps the fog would clear with sunrise.

* * *

She walked in the woods as if in a daydream. She felt in a limbo of sorts, where neither night nor day existed. The fog had begun to grow thick and she tried grasping it with her hands. She reached out to it several times and each time to no avail. _Much like Kili, the fog evades me_ , she mused. She was both reminiscing and dreaming. The air was thick and dewy, it was the scent of the forest she had so missed. It smelt of innocence, of happiness, of her childhood even. She hardly remembered her parents now. She did recall her father’s auburn hair and her mother’s dark eyes. That was all she remembered of them, and the rest of her youth was in pieces. The first time she beheld the stars. Legolas teaching her to use the arrow. The warmth of the stream in the summer. Glorindor lighting his pipe when he told her stories of the Avari. An elf’s childhood seems brief, she wondered if it was the same for all races? Did Kili remember his childhood well or was it a passing blur like hers?

She supposed it must be quicker than hers for dwarf had short lives. She had not asked her dwarf companions much on the subject whilst traveling. Though the mortality of dwarves was a fascinating subject to her, she noted it could be deemed intrusive if she inquired too much. It seemed to her that dwarves only spoke of trade, food, war, and merriment. They did not share her interest in nature, beauty, or the stars. Yet she now missed their company all the same. They had been kind to her and for that she was thankful. Their parting had been sad and yet happy at the same time. Bruni, in truth, had been rather content to get rid of her. He said it would not bode well to arrive at Erebor with an elf. Buri had hushed him over such a comment. Frar had even managed to have turned her silk into a dress. The garment was rather plain as it was unfinished, and yet the silk made it beautiful, nonetheless.

“It’s wonderful,” she had said most sincerely.

“It’s not yet finished,” Frar had protested.

“It’ll do for now,” she replied. “I believe I will find a seamstress in Mirkwood to do the rest.”

“Yes,” Frar agreed. “Do put some nice decorations and finishes. It is very fine silk and not one that should go to waste.”

She had tucked the dress away safely. She treasured it as she treasured the dwarf’s gift for sewing. Buri had been the last one to say goodbye. He had wished her luck and asked one last time if she wanted to accompany them to the Lonely Mountain. She declined, telling him that returning home would do her much good. “I also wish to seek my king’s counsel,” she had said. “Thranduil, though he may have his faults, is wise and I believe he will provide me with much needed advice.

Buri nodded with approval. “Aye, I believe he will,” he replied. “Be careful, Lady Tauriel. Do not get lost in the woods.”

She smirked at his remark. “I was born in the forest. I could not possibly get lost in it.”

But now as she trekked between fog and wood, she began to wonder if that was a possibility? The woods had much change since she had been a child. And it seemed every year they were stranger and darker. There was evil lurking in the forest of Mirkwood, no doubt. Some of the elder elves who remembered the Greenwood of old spoke of this. Mirkwood was not what it used to be. It had become full of spiders and other darker things, and every day the evil spread throughout like a disease. Much like all of Arda, something grew and soured its water and colored blackness upon its land. Thranduil had purposely ignored it until the Battle of the Five Armies had forced him to face the evil. And yet the problem was not so easily resolved, there were whispers and rumors but nothing for certain. Many elves feared the worst, Tauriel was no different. _Could it be true that the enemy has truly risen?_ she wondered. _Could it be that the servant of Morgoth had indeed returned?_ These were chilling thoughts that made her feel wary and cold. The fog continued to be thickening rather than thinning. Every step she took, she felt more unsure. She knew the woods well, yes, but were they still the same woods? _Could be that evil has come to Mirkwood at last?_

Yet at that thought, she heard a sound. She turned around and saw a bird had just landed on a nearby branch. The fog bothered him not. He sung as he had just gazed the sun and it had greeted him kindly. She smiled at the tiny thing. _No_ , she thought. _There is yet hope and beauty. Hope and beauty to be protected._ The bird gazed at her for a few seconds before it flew off to some place unknown. _He is wise to leave the fog. If I was him, I would go up, up, above the fog and the trees, where everything is clear. I would fly above the clouds. And right below the stars._ She had told Kili she had walked there sometimes. To where land and starlight met, the world above worlds, the world between worlds. It was a silly thing, in retrospective, to have told a prisoner. And a foolish thing to tell anyone for that matter. She rarely expressed her thoughts or feelings so easily and yet she had told him, all the same. She found the memory both embarrassing and comforting. He had not laughed but spoken to her tenderly ever since. And she had been grateful for it. Now, she was only grateful for the memory. _For now, that is all I have left of him_ , she thought. And it would have to suffice for the rest of her life. Despite of how shiny and pretty the lie could be, the memory would have to serve for it remained true. _One cannot live in dreams..._

And still Tauriel felt she was in one. The fog was so thick that it mimicked walking among clouds. The trees were drenched in dew that sparkled like tiny gemstones. The new sunlight had turned the sky a pink hue and the moon was still there, faintly glowing as its reign was ending. The birds had taken to singing a morning song so sweet, she felt lulled into a trance. _Perhaps I am still dreaming_ , she mused. _Perhaps I am asleep, and this is a tender, sweet dream. But if it was a dream, Kili would appear from between the clouds, wouldn’t he? And he would kiss me, and his kiss would be warm, not cold. Yes, if this was dream…_

At last the sun began to rise. She saw its bright yellow shape as it parted the clouds of fogs and gave the forest its color back. She saw as she begun trekking up a hill… that something was coming down the hill.

It sounded strange and foreign, not natural to the forest at all. She was alert, at once. Its footsteps were not of an elf, they were heavy like ones of a human or a dwarf. _Or an orc_ , she thought as she hid behind a tree. She pulled an arrow out quietly, dark things did lurk in Mirkwood and she would not die at the hands of one. The shape began to clear as the fog slowly dissolved. She kept her arrow steady, ready to defend herself if it was revealed to be a foe. But as she glanced at the shape, it was no shape but a ghost.

_It’s him_ , she thought. _It’s him!_ It was Kili. He had come from out from the fog, out from the sky, and he had appeared just like the sun.

_I am dreaming_ , she thought. But it was an odd dream for he seemed different to how she remembered him. His hair was still a pretty shade of brown but longer and with more braids. His beard was slightly thicker, too. His robes were also different, they were a darker blue and quite lush. His face retained a boyish charm but was now covered in a forlorn scowl. And his once bright eyes were sad and dark. He was Kili but he was wrong. _If this is a dream, it is all wrong_ , she thought. _Could it be an illusion of the forest? Is this some dark creature that_ _looks like Kili? Has some dark being read my thoughts?_

Why wouldn’t evil things take the shape of a beloved one? She had heard many tales of servants of Sauron doing such sorcery. They would become shadows and ghosts of the person, often twisted they were in their imitation. That would explain the gloomy demeanor of the apparition. She took a deep breath and held on ever so tightly to her arrow. If this dark thing had read her thoughts and taken such a shape, it only meant to harm her. She looked back at the figure, hidden from her tree.

The figure did not attack. It did not move so much as a foot. The figure only sighed. Such was the innocence in his expression that she was taken aback by the familiarity of it. In her err, she had stepped on a twig and it had cracked. And yet, the figure remained still. He had not heard. And when he moved, he seemed to wander about without much purpose. He looked not at the ground or trees, but solely the sky when he walked. _He’s completely unaware of his surroundings,_ she realized. _If this a servant of Sauron, a poor servant he is._ The figure, then, stopped his aimless walking and crouched by the grass. He continued sighing, seeming both lost in thought and reason. She was perplexed by such action. Did it plan to attack her? Was it so she would lower her guard? She also saw he carried no weapon with him. It seemed more bizarre the more she stared at him, yet she could not help it. Despite the uneasy feelings she carried, such were his manners and expressions that it inspired a rush of affection within her _. He is not Kili_ , she told herself. _Remember Kili is dead. This is ghost preying on your own wishes. This is a dark thing that means ill._ She could stay hidden forever and as the thing meant not to attack, she decided it would be best for to step forward.

She came headfirst with her bow and arrow pointed directly at the being. Almost by instinct, he rose to his feet. And yet he was both surprised and relieved immediately at the sight of her. He stared at her in awe, in wonder, in total stupidity, that she wondered how this thing was meant to harm her. But it was then that he attacked. For he smiled so sweetly, so warmly, so kindly, that she felt her heart burst at once.

“Tauriel! Tauriel!” he said in a daze.

She recalled the tale of Beren and Luthien, just then. She remembered how Beren had called out “Tinuviel! Tinuviel!” a thousand years before. Now the words echoed in the woods and her heart chased after them. But she would not move. She would not falter. _It is trying to trick you_ , she told herself. _Remember. Recall his face. Recall the blood. Recall how cold his lips felt._

She remained frozen with her arrow tightly wound at him. He only gazed and gazed at her. Was he aware an arrow was pointed at him? Possibly not for he made no movement or acknowledgement of it. His gaze was too soft for her to endure. It was torture. It looked like him, it stared at her like him, and his voice was just like his. A single tear rushed down her cheek. She could not withstand it any longer. “I will not endure this evil,” she said.

And she released the arrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'd like to take this time to invite you donate to Black Lives Matter. [This link](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) contains various good places to donate, or simply sign things. If you cannot donate, please remember to support with signatures and do not remain silent. This is a time of great revolution and change. Silence is complicit. I love writing fantasy, but art is never isolated and everything is inherently political. I would be remiss if I didn't share this link on every single platform I use. So there ya go.
> 
> Secondly, yep they're finally together. Sorta? This chapter is rather short but trust me the next one is a hella wild ride. Much longer and much more intense, let's just say. Thanks for reading (and donating) <3


	13. Starlight, At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a whole rollercoaster so hold on.

The sun had come from behind him. It had burst through clouds above just as she had burst through clouds of the forest. And when Kili had first beholden her, in the light of the sun and not the moonlight of his dreams, he had still thought himself to be asleep. 

But it was the sunlight that convinced him otherwise, for it had hit her face so finely that her beauty immediately put any dream to shame. It was too fair to exist in a memory and too moving to be put into a thought. _I’m not dreaming_ , he told himself. _I don’t believe I have the imagination to conjure her up just so._ He gazed at her, all his words escaping him rapidly by the second and leaving him mute. She also did not speak, but only looked at him with her most divine eyes. And to merely be in her presence brought him such a joy and satisfaction that he did not dare break the spell. _Are we enchanted to remain and stare at each other until the end of time?_ he wondered. He welcomed that end with all his being, for he did not, could not, imagine a most meaningful way to spend the rest of his life…

It was then that she spoke, yet he could not hear. He was lost in his own thoughts, too deep in his heart’s own content. _Speak again, bright star_ , he asked her… but the words did not come. The arrow did instead.

He felt the sharp sting of pointed edge as it tore his robes and kissed his skin, missing him completely and leaving a fresh wound. He yelled in sudden pain, as though he had awakened from a stupor. He looked at the shoulder where the arrow had soared past him, it had left him a red blossom. The blood was strangely pretty. Where had the arrow come from?

He saw Tauriel rushing towards him and he heard her speak for the first time. “Kili! Are you hurt?” There was doubt and fear all at once in her voice. She had stopped short of him, yet she was no less beautiful than afar. But it was her voice he was more concerned with. For her voice was soft and soothing and utterly sweet to his ears.

“No,” he said unsure he was even speaking to her. “Where did the arrow come from?”

“I shot you,” she explained. “Did you not—did you not see?”

“You? Why? Where?”

“I was standing in front of you with an arrow and you said nothing.”

“When?”

“Right now,” she said with exasperation. But she came no nearer to him, almost as if she were frightened of him. She was frozen, in truth, for she did not move but only stared. “You bleed… You are no ghost….”

“No,” he said wincing from the pain. The wound was small, but it throbbed still.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked.

He was unsure if she was asking herself or him, for her gaze seemed lost. “No,” he answered still. “If this was a dream you would be kissing me, not shooting me with arrows.”

Something about the response jolted her awake for her eyes widened in horror. And she looked at him, almost as if for the first time, and spoke breathlessly, “It is you.”

“It’s me,” he replied tenderly.

For the first time, certain and unafraid, she moved towards him. To his disappointment, there was no passionate display of affection but rather a cold, fixed action on her part. She knelt down and grasped his arm, extending it to see the severity of the shoulder’s wound. She was gentle, nonetheless, and he was immediately flustered at her touch. Her proximity allowed him to examine her face more closely. It retained all the same loveliness he had encountered the first time he had seen her. Even her hair retained that same vibrant auburn hue. She had not aged, naturally. And her eyes were still an alluring shade of green, or were they a bewitching blue? It was hard to tell by the light but there was a new strange sadness to them that he could observe. To sit and gaze at her, however, was pleasant, so pleasant there was nothing else in the world that could compare. 

“I will heal it,” she said as a matter-of-fact.

She then went off and left him alone to his displeasure. His mind was all scattered about. Almost as if the veil of enchantment had been lifted and his thoughts came rushing in. _Why does she behave this way? Have her feelings for me changed? Was she always this beautiful? How did I not notice the arrow?_ But he cared naught for them. All he wished for was to behold her lovely face once again. So, when she returned with a wet cloth and some plant, his mind went blank as if the spell had been cast once more.

She went to tending the wound and spoke naught. And he said nothing in return for he loved being in her company just so. Yet his gaze made her uneasy for her face retained a pink hue throughout the affair. “It merely scratched you…”, she finally said weakly.

“Were your eyes always blue or green?”

“You are lucky the sun was in my face when I shot…”

“The sun...”

“I could have killed you,” she concluded.

She finished tying the cloth around his upper arm and turned away from him. She swallowed as if there was a heavy lump in her throat and spoke once more. “You’re—How?”

 _I have not told her_ , he realized mortified. Had he truly spent the entirety of his meeting with Tauriel thus far by not explaining how he was not dead? His level of foolishness had indeed reached new heights. _She must still think I’m a ghost, a dream, or a liar._ “I should have said something… I’m not making any sense, I know. You must be in shock and here I am speaking of the color of your eyes. I don’t know where to start—”

“I saw you die,” she said her voice breaking, yet looking not at him.

“I did die, and I didn’t,” he said. “It’s hard to explain. It has to with magic and if you believe Mab. She claims she spoke to Mahal himself, but I myself have a few doubts about that, not that I’m not religious—"

“Who’s Mab?”

“A witch or a healer. I reckon she’s more of a witch, she sometimes tells me what I dream. It’s bizarre and it really irks me. I haven’t thought about how intrusive that is—”

“A healer? But you… the king said—”

“My uncle, Thorin, wrote you a false letter. He wrote the opposite of what happened. He said I died, and Fili lived when truly if was I that lived, and… and Fili died.” The last words came out restrained.

“Your brother?” Tauriel said as she finally looked upon him. “Kili, I am sorry…”

“No, don’t be,” he interrupted. “It’s fine, truly, I’m fine. He wrote to you, Thorin. You wrote back this dry but very polite letter, and I convinced myself you didn’t reciprocate my feelings. I thought you knew I was alive, and you had simply decided not to seek me out for that very same reason. I was a bit hurt. But I wasn’t severely destitute by any means. I mean yes, I was sad. Very sad, in truth. And then I heard you went off with Legolas—”

“I did go with him, but I came back because… because I had a feeling. I had a dream…”

“Yes, a dream! I, too, had a dream. Many dreams, in fact. I do think Mab’s weird purple concoction has something to do with that if I am honest. It has all sort of strange things and I heard from some other dwarves that if you prepare it with certain herbs, you’ll get really terrible nightmares… In truth, I am speaking but not saying much...”

“But you’re here,” Tauriel said, her voice soft. “If you thought I was well away, why come here?”

“I dreamed with you,” he said. “I realized, well… I thought you still had feelings for me and that you never stopped—” He began to feel nervous. How could he love someone for months and openly express the love over and over again and yet struggle to verbalize it in the moment? He had hinted at loving her that last time by the shore of the lake. He had called her his love and he had spoken of the fearlessness of his affection. _And why do I tremble now?_ He, then, concluded, “That you never stopped loving me, the way I never stopped loving you.”

She looked at him most intently. “No,” she said. “I don’t believe it can be stopped.”

She, then, saying nothing but perhaps conveying everything, leaned forward. And perhaps she had meant to rest his forehead on his, but he never found out for he pressed his lips to hers instead. They met in a kiss as familiar as the ones they had in dreams. Yet it tasted sweeter to him. The reality of it gave it weight and texture and an immense happiness those others had never possessed. It was a kiss where he began to be unsure where she started and where he ended. The lines were blurred. It lasted forever and not very long at all.

When they broke apart, he saw her eyes, they were glossy and glimmering with green. “They’re green,” he whispered so lowly, he was unsure she heard him.

“Your lips are warm,” she said smiling. Only then he could see there were tears streaming down her face.

 _She’s crying_ , he realized. _What am I doing kissing her when she thought me dead merely ten minutes ago? Does she feel she is kissing a ghost? Does she still think it is a dream?_ “Tauriel,” he said. “I apologize, perhaps that wasn’t the best thing—”

“When you died, I kissed you.” she said wiping her tears and looking away. “Your lips—the last time I kissed you, your lips were _so_ cold.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I have felt that kiss ever since in dreams. You have woken me with a kiss in dreams and once again you wake me now. I have felt you so numb since I parted from you, and now, I feel more alive than I ever felt before. You must know—you must feel…”

“I have felt so away from you,” she confessed. “I have been haunted in grief, in agony, in confusion, and now anger. I do not understand how you could be alive all this time and I not know. How could I not feel it?”

“I don’t blame you for not knowing, you were deceived—”

“By whom? By the king or by myself?”

She tossed her head into her hands, looking only at the ground and nothing else. He wanted to comfort her, but he withheld his touch. She seemed to be mulling something in her thoughts so violently, it need not to be disturbed. Her eyes met his briefly and she blushed as she returned her gaze downwards. “Yet I lie to you,” she said in shame. “I did feel it. I did feel something calling, something pulling me back to the Lonely Mountain and I chose to ignore it. Not once. Not twice. But every single time. When it came, I merely pulled away. Afraid. Terrified of what it could possibly be. I went further away. I went west, I wanted to leave it all behind. To leave you behind. Consumed by own grief and fooled by own belief. I have been a coward therefore it is I whom demands your forgiveness, not the other way around.”

“Tauriel, I cannot forgive you for something you didn’t do,” he said. “I would have done the same…”

“No, I don’t believe you would have,” she answered. “You are too relentless in your own pursuits, too certain in your convictions, too noble in your affections…” She looked at him with the pureness of her green eyes and this time is was he who blushed.

“I am not all that,” he said nervously. “I was uncertain in your own affections for me for the longest time. I feared I had thought wrongly about everything. I have only come here at the last moment. And only because of a dream and a little hope, nothing more. I only found the truth from Thorin after I set my heart on coming to find you.”

“A dream?” she echoed, her voice softening. “I, too, came here resting everything on a dream. I dreamt you asked me to come. So, I _had_ to come. You did ask me to come to you did you not? In dreams, I mean.”

He nodded. “And you came. I have no cause to forgive. I rather thank you a thousand times. I rather kiss you a thousand times.” His face reddened at the last bold words.

She blushed only lightly and gazed at him with her otherworldly eyes. “A thousand times?” she said smiling. “I strangely feel I have kissed you a thousand times. And yet they still feel too few.”

“You must remedy it, then,” he replied.

“Yes, perhaps I must,” she said as she leaned over and kissed him.

Her kiss lacked the eagerness of his kiss, but not the hunger. He felt the heat of her skin as he cupped her face. He felt her yearning as her mouth took to his as if for air. And yet it was a tender and thoughtful kiss, as if the giver had planned to give it for a very long time. He wished it would not end. And it did not for they kissed and broke apart and kissed anew. Each time they stopped merely to breath or to stare at each other with awe and wonder. Tauriel seemed to be captivated with grazing his lips and tracing the features of his face with her hands. “You’re so warm,” she kept saying with glee. Sometimes she broke into a smile or a giggle when she said it.

He kissed her hand in return, in thanks, in utter devotion. “Yes,” he said not sure what else there was to say. He just wanted to kiss her and gaze at her, all in blissful silence. But that was a lie. He also wanted to run his fingers through her long red hair and memorize her face and kiss her again because it was not enough. Every time their lips met it felt like the first time. And every time they parted it felt like the last. There simply wasn’t enough kisses or enough time. After some time of their ritual, they laid in the grass next to each other. It would seem they were admiring the sky, but they only admired each other. Tauriel rested her head on his chest, seeming superbly content with just listening to his heartbeat. She said nothing for a while, and he felt himself close his eyes in the same feeling of peacefulness.

“I could fall asleep,” he murmured.

“Don’t you dare,” she said coyly.

“What if I do?”

“I shall haunt you in your dreams.”

“That sounds lovely and not much of a threat.”

“It is too lovely,” she sighed. She shook her head and began to tug at the fabric of his robes. Almost as she was inspecting the tangibility of her reality. Perhaps she mused that if she pulled a certain thread, the dream would unravel into nothingness.

“You’re not thinking this is still a dream, are you?” he asked curiously.

“No,” she said slowly.

“Good,” he said. “The rule of thumb is that if you try to shoot me with an arrow, it’s most definitely not a dream.”

“Oh, by the Valar, I tried to kill you!” she said suddenly remembering.

He laughed. “Nah, you didn’t. It’s merely a scratch. I don’t even feel it anymore, I don’t feel anything except just you.”

They gazed at each other and spoke many words of love through them. And yet her eyes remained ever sad. It frustrated him that he could not console them, but he figured time would bring them to his side. Despite the sadness in her eyes, she smiled and kissed him briefly. She then returned her head to his chest where she said nothing for a long time. And he was lulled by the breeze and rustle of the leaves. He closed his eyes, thinking perhaps he could sleep. Yet a sweeter dream he could imagine not. For all his dreams henceforth would pale in comparison to this. 

“You cannot leave me again,” Tauriel finally said.

“I won’t,” he promised.

“You can’t keep that promise,” she said plainly.

“I will keep it,” he insisted. “I came back to you, did I not?”

“Yes, you did,” she said sadly. “Yes, you did.”

“Tauriel…” he said trying to console her. But she did not seem to listen. She was so deep in thought, he figured he let her be. It was natural doubts were still in her head, just less than an hour he was dead to her. He had to be patient.

He resigned himself and sighed. He started playing with her hair, it so lovely in sunlight. Perhaps he should braid it, or that would be too bold? _Does she know what that would mean?_ he wondered. To dwarves braiding each other hair was an intimate act, a romantic act, nonetheless. _It wouldn’t be wrong. It is the natural next step, after all. That and exchanging rings._ His face went red just thinking about them. He had brought them on a very wild possibility and suddenly said possibility was a radiant reality. _Or maybe the elvish books are wrong? Would it be bizarre if I asked to exchange rings right now?_ A year of courtship with exchanged rings, he had read. But now with her head resting on his chest, he had not the courage to do so. _It is all still too sudden and she’s too fragile and I’m too bold._

He, instead, took her hand and squeezed it. She jerked as if he had awakened her from a dream. She once again graced him with those tender green eyes. _Still sad_ , he mused as he caressed her face. “I’m glad I sought you,” he told her. “I’m glad I never gave up on my star.”

She blushed, leaning both into his hand and into his words. “I’m glad I am here with you. I only wished I have sought you out first. I wish I went to the Lonely Mountain sooner…”

“It’s good you didn’t,” he said amused. “Thorin would have likely not received you. Or even worse, he could have continued lying to us. Perhaps even about each other’s existence. He was so furious when I told him I was coming to Mirkwood. He said he’d banished me as if I cared—”

“He banished you?” Tauriel asked a bit perplexed. “You’re his only nephew. Is he against you courting an elf that much?”

“Well, perhaps so. I reckon it’s more of the fact he didn’t want his prince courting an elf—”

“A prince!” she gasped. “Why, of course you are the Prince Under the Mountain, the dwarves spoke about—”

“The dwarves?”

“Yes, those I crossed the Grey Mountains with—”

“You came through the Grey Mountains? With which dwarves?’

“They said you were courting and that you would be getting engaged…”

“Now, that’s just nonsense,” Kili replied annoyed. “Who are these dwarves again? Thorin practically forced me and my mother was quite adamant about it as well—”

“Your mother! Does she know? Does she also know of your banishment?”

“Well, yes and no,” he said. “I mean I don’t truly believe Thorin will go with it—”

“But he is King, is he not?” she said rising to her feet. This irritated Kili as he wished to return as they were minutes before. “And you’re the prince! He has all the right do so. It’s his line and his kingdom. You obviously cannot be with an Elf, no more than Legolas can be with a Silvan Elf.”

“Why are we talking about Legolas?” he grumbled.

“King Thranduil was very frustrated at the mere possibility of his son courting me, and that’s with me still being an elf. I cannot imagine what he would do if he thought Legolas intended to court a dwarf. Possibly no less than your own king has done.”

“Again, why do we speak of Legolas? And, who cares what Thranduil might want? For all I know, Thorin and him are scheming together. I dared not go to him to find you in fear he might betray me as my uncle had.”

“They are not,” Tauriel assured him. “Thranduil has little to no love for your King and he… he was kind to me. When you died, he was kind and comforted me. He repealed my banishment. He took pity on me. He’s not the gentlest of kings, but he has been good to me thus far. Please, do not think unkindly of him.”

Kili nodded, accepting her words at once. “If you say so then it must be so.”

“But you…. You said you did not seek him out?” she asked confused.

“Yes, I couldn’t risk it—”

“Then he does not know you’re here? And no dwarves helped you either as Thorin forbid it, I assume?”

“No, as I said Thorin was too hot in his orders. Some dared accompany me, but I could not let them risk their lives for me. We parted at the forest’s entrance—”

“You entered Mirkwood alone and unarmed?” she exclaimed in horror. “You do not know these woods as well as I do. You walked into death, did you not know that?”

“I did walk in armed,” he replied irritated. “I wouldn’t go anywhere dangerous unarmed, now that’s just stupid…”

“But regardless of that, you simply do not know the forest well—”

“I had a map. And I had some help from some very friendly elves, I can assure you. Which is also where my weapons are at. I left their camp earlier this morning—”

“No Elf would help you without going through Thranduil first…”

“Well, these did. Glorindor is their leader. He says he’s a friend of yours—”  
  
“Glorindor,” she echoed. “It is most strange and fortunate you should meet him. I am surprised he didn’t kill you. He takes not kindly to dwarves no more than Thranduil does.”

“Well, he tried to…”

“Kili!”

“But it was fine, I said your name and we found kinship on that.”

“I still cannot believe that would risk your life so recklessly by coming without a party or going through Thranduil.”

“I told you, I had my reasons for each choice,” he repeated. “Besides, I cared naught for my life, all I cared was you—”

“But don’t you see how unfair that is to me?” she said exasperated. “You say you cared for me and yet you would risk your life, life that is dear to me, on a whim of pride and presumptions? How would you react if I put myself shamelessly in peril because I cared naught but you?” He had not thought of it that way, but before he could apologize, he heard Tauriel grumble.

She had sat down once more and seemed ever so cross. “Oh by the Valar, what am I saying? I have done just as you. I did chase after those orcs. I disobeyed Thranduil. I neglected Legolas. I threatened Thranduil…”

“You threatened him?” he echoed in utter disbelief. “When?”

“During the battle, when he denied aid to your kind, I spoke very harsh words and even pointed an arrow at him. I do not know what I was thinking…”

“You weren’t,” he said in jest and trying not to laugh. The idea of Tauriel threatening Thranduil amused him much and filled him with strange pride. “No more than I did when I came into this forest, frankly.”

“And I did try to face Bolg on my own,” she observed. “And that did not go well…”

“Well neither did it for me,” he said gesturing at himself jokingly.

Tauriel merely glared at him. “I do not find that funny. And yet, I realize that we both had been careless in our actions. Perhaps I am most careless in my words… Forgive me, I am not angry at you. I am angry at things you cannot control. You can die. I cannot.”

He sat next to her and put his arm around her gently. “You can die, Tauriel,” he said lightly. “You’re just difficult to kill.”

She half-smiled. “You’re right. Elves are naturally difficult to kill. I believe dwarves are too. But your life… your life is so precious. It is so brief. I have lived six hundred years and yet the last months have been the shortest and longest in my existence. I am unsure of nothing.”

“You do not have to be sure of anything,” he said earnestly. “Just as long as you’re sure that you love me. That will be enough.”

“I am sure,” she said as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “That I am sure.” She was smiling as she said it, but Kili saw her eyes did not. They never did for they always remained sad. 

* * *

The halls of Mirkwood were just as grand as he remembered them. _Just as empty as well_ , he thought. Caverns made to look like wood and forests, it was strange to him. Dwarves liked things to be as they were and caves were caves. One could decorate and fashion them into something majestic and worth looking at, but their essence should remain the same. The Elves seemed to differ in opinion. It was like they had not left the forest, or so did the waterfalls and scarce sunlight dared suggest. But Kili knew better. _The light is dimmer here_ , he mused. _It is no better than the cells, in truth._

His last visit to Mirkwood was colored by the company’s capture and consequent imprisonment. He had no warm feelings for the elven-kingdom and Thranduil since that journey. And yet, it was also this imprisonment that led him to meeting Tauriel and for that he was infinitely grateful. He supposed, because of that, he should be impartial to any past slights or offenses. But that did not come easy, at the moment. They had been waiting for the King for some time and there still was no sign of his future appearance. He felt Thranduil was doing this on purpose and yet he could not accuse him of such. To make matters worse, he was away from Tauriel. Well not truly away. They were in the same room and right next to each other. But the lack of contact made them almost strangers. It made sense to him that they should not touch or openly embrace as they had done before, but he didn’t dislike it any less. It would look perhaps improper to both the Elven-King and the Elves. And, of course, Tauriel was naturally shy. Besides it was different out in the forest with no eyes watching, but, in here, all the elves seemed to gape at him with wide curiosity. Tauriel had been well-received enough, however. She wasn’t perhaps the most popular of elves, he had observed, but she seemed to be respected. But Kili, even with his princely status, was still an outsider and very much still a dwarf. _How did she convince me to come here?_ he wondered.

It had taken rather little effort on her behalf, in truth. Tauriel had insisted they must go to Thranduil’s kingdom. “You will be safe there. He most likely already knows we are in these woods as we speak.”

“I was safe enough with Glorindor and the other elves,” he answered haughtily. “And I liked them better. Besides, what matters if Thranduil knows or not.”

“I do not doubt you like Glorindor and the wild Silvan Elves better. I am also quite fond of them,” she said truthfully. “But sooner or later Thranduil will request your presence. And whether the King Under the Mountain and the Elven-King share naught but distaste for each other, your uncle will still be inquiring about you. Under these woods, you are under Mirkwood rule and which gives Thranduil responsibility over you whether you consent or not. Your king might not be too content with you, but you are still his prince and most importantly, his nephew.”

He had reluctantly agreed with her.

And yet now, he regretted such a decision. He glanced at Tauriel, she was looking very intently to the door that stood before them. Always forward and never back, he noticed. Perhaps she was preparing what she would say to Thranduil, or perhaps she was merely trying not to look at him. He was guilty of stealing glances and gazing openly at her, all of which made her blush. He felt no shame for his actions, however, for her eyes were too lovely to be without. And he also felt immense satisfaction in being able to provoke such reactions from her. She also did not seem to mind it much for she smiled from time to time. To him, that worth all the trouble.

At last, the great doors to the Elven-King’s throne opened and they were allowed in. Tauriel went in first and he followed not too far behind. Kili felt a certain anxiety in her. She seemed to walk with caution, her mind lost in thought. He squeezed her hand which made her look down on him. “It will all be well,” he told her. She nodded faintly. They continued down the long pathway until the Elven-King came into shape.

Thranduil was very much what he expected. He had not changed much in appearance since he last saw him. He sat on his grand, wooden throne with its looming antlers, his presence always commanding and composed.

“Well, if isn’t the very Prince Under the Mountain, at last,” Thranduil said splendidly. “It is truly a sight to see you well and alive and… here. I bid you welcome to my kingdom. Which you have graciously invited yourself into.”

“I thank you, your majesty,” he said reluctantly. “I dare say I never meant to overstay my welcome.”

“And you have not, I assure you,” the Elven-King replied. “In fact, many are honored to have you in our presence. Many are happy to see you lively and ever so affectionate, are we not?”

A tiny blush crept to Tauriel’s face, yet she still spoke mildly. “My King…”

“And yes Tauriel,” Thranduil interrupted. “I am happy also to have seen your unexpected but always welcomed return. I can’t possibly think what drew you back so fast, but I am no less content for it. Tell me, how is my son?”

“He is well,” she said plainly enough. “He plans to write. Perhaps you shall hear from him soon.”

“Oh, I do not welcome more letters, in truth. I have been receiving too many of late,” Thranduil said wearily. “Speaking of lost family, my dear Prince, it appears your uncle is rather very concerned for you.”

“Is he truly?” Kili asked bitingly.

“Truly, I’ve never heard Thorin in such a state,” Thranduil continued with some glee. “He asks me, no, he begs me, that if you should come to me, I should return you to him immediately. He fears you might get yourself in quite a predicament. But I wonder myself how rather odd this all is. It is truly strange what grief does to us…”

“You wouldn’t dare—” Kili began.

“Do not say what I would or wouldn’t dare,” the King replied coolly. “I would have your tongue taken out for that, but I believe Tauriel would rather suffer much for it. I am too fond of her to ever cause grief upon her heart. Even I am not cold or cruel enough for such actions. But then again, perhaps half a tongue would do you well enough. Your impertinence does you more harm than good. I’d say you would rather thank me for such an act.”

Kili wanted to say something terrible, but Tauriel touched his arm reassuringly. He instead muttered something to himself in Khuzdul.

“My King, is it not perhaps unkind to speak to a prince this way?” she asked with conviction. “A prince that has come to you willingly and much at the behest of his own king and kin?”

Thranduil smirked. “Oh, Tauriel, you do spoil my jests. It is much fun to tease your little prince. Dwarves and their notorious short-temper will never cease to amuse me. I intend no harm on you, Prince Kili. Much less when Tauriel is in our presence.”

“And what about my uncle? What about the King?” Kili asked hotly.

“What about him?” Thranduil scoffed. “Do you think I truly care whether he wishes you back or not? Do you think I intend any good-will towards him besides the peace upon our kingdoms? I do not care to take part in his little family affair. It is much not my concern. You may linger here for the rest of your life or leave this very moment never to be seen again. I shall speak naught to the King of Erebor.”

Kili was surprised by his declaration. “Then, I thank you.”

“Do not thank me,” Thranduil said wearily. “I have done nothing. And yet, Thorin’s worst fear should probably be my greatest joy if it comes to fruition.”

The Elven-King glanced at him with a smug smirk, but Kili did not understand what he meant. He looked to Tauriel for clarity, but even she seemed lost, her eyes firmly on the ground. “I do not think it shall come to that,” she said slowly.

Thranduil, for once, seemed taken aback. “How can that be?”

“My King,” Tauriel began. “Could I request a private audience with you?”

Thranduil nodded carefully, “Yes, of course.” He then addressed Kili. “And would you consent to be apart from her for a prolonged period of time?”

This time Kili took the Elven-King’s advice and bit his tongue. “Most naturally,” he said.

Thranduil seemed amused enough. “Very well then. You may be dismissed. A chamber has been prepared for you. And you are cordially invited to dinner later this evening. Whether you attend or not makes little difference to me, however.”

Kili could not help but glare at the Elven-King, who looked ever so boastful and mighty upon his high chair. And yet he was wise and kept his thoughts to himself. Besides there were more pressing matters, why did Tauriel need a private audience? For what purpose? _Is there something she does not want to hear?_ he wondered. _Or else why would she exclude me from this meeting?_ But before he could ask her, she came to him. Her smile was too warm, and it melted his icy suppositions.

“I must speak to the King in private,” she said only to him. “And you must rest. You look exhausted. Did you not say you walked all night?” She touched his face with concern and his face reddened at her touch.

“I did but that matters naught…” he whispered back.

“Rest. I shall meet with you after, I promise.”

“Why can’t I stay here with you?”

“It is something private,” she said lowly. “Please understand.”

She, then, took him by the hand and his heart stirred anew. “I will do as you ask of me,” he replied wistfully.

She smiled once again. Her same lovely yet sad smile. “I shall see you again soon,” Tauriel said. “Tonight. I promise.” She let go of his hand and he felt a sudden coldness. It was the halls of Thranduil, surely. The air was chilly and the place drafty.

“Are you done, or do you prefer me to leave so you can part properly?” the Elven-King asked tiredly.

Kili only nodded at Tauriel. He, then, turned to Thranduil. “I take my leave. But only do I part from her unwilling and at the very last moment.”

Tauriel smiled faintly at his words, while the Elven-King merely shook his head. Yet as he walked down the hall, Kili’s gaze never left her. He kept looking back until it was her who, at last, broke their gaze. And she did not look back again. 

He, at last, exited the coldness of Thranduil’s throne hall, and was left in the darkness of another drafty hall. An Elf gestured him to follow him and he did so albeit unhappily. He was not too pleased to have left Tauriel, much less when it seemed she was keeping secrets from him. But he tried to worry for naught. _Everyone’s allowed their own secrets_ , he told himself. _To share every single thought is most excruciating. Surely there are things I would tell Thorin and not Tauriel._ And yet as he pondered on that, there were very few. He shivered as they walked, and to his dismay, his Elf companion was not very forthcoming or polite. Yet as they continued, Kili was shocked to find he was not being escorted to some cells, but to some comfortable chambers instead. Indeed, Thranduil’s word proved true, at least in what his hospitality was concerned.

Once left alone in the chambers, Kili plunged into the elven-bed. It was soft and his body felt heavy. _Fili_ , he suddenly thought. _Yes, there are things I would tell him but not Tauriel._ The thought was reassuring but nonetheless sad. Still, he tried to think what Tauriel could possibly inquire Thranduil about. Maybe some elven things that need not concern him? Or perhaps they were talking about him. No, that was not in Tauriel’s nature.

 _No, she would not do such a thing_ , he mused. _She promised. Tonight_. He did not remember what happened next for sleep took him.

* * *

The wine was overly sweet.

It was only his second cup, but he already regretted it. Thranduil must have felt otherwise. He was on his second bottle and showed no signs of quenching his thirst. “Well?” the Elven-King asked.

Kili had been served a succulent duck dripping in honey and herbs. He had taken a couple of bites of it as more of a courteous act rather than a liking to it. It was too sweet to his taste, and not spiced well enough. _Is all elvish food like this?_ he wondered.

“It is remarkably better than Rivendell,” he said most sincerely.

The Elven-King shockingly laughed at this. “Very well sad, Dwarven Prince.”

“Won’t Tauriel be joining us?” he asked again.

He had woken from his nap by a rapping at his door. It seemed the time for dinner had arrived and Thranduil requested his presence. He had moved quickly towards the banquet hall but was sorely disappointed when there was no sign of Tauriel. Only Thranduil had been sat, already well into his first bottle of wine. After greeting the Elven-King courtly, he had asked whether Tauriel should be arriving soon. Thranduil had said he hoped so but doubted she would. And yet, he suggested they start without her for the food would grow cold. Now they were onto their second course and Kili’s hopes grew dire.

“I do not believe she will,” Thranduil answered as he stirred his glass of wine. “She is rather preoccupied, it seems.”

Kili did little to hide his disappointment. He frowned down upon his half-eaten duck.

“There, there,” Thranduil said in a cool tone. “Surely you mustn’t let that spoil your evening. It’s bad to let good wine and food go to waste. After all, you are just lucky to be alive.”

Kili looked up to glance with uncertainty at the Elven-King. It felt strange to hear these words from Thranduil, even though as the Elven-King paid no mind to him, his eyes fixed on the swirling liquor in his glass. _Is he trying to console me?_ he wondered.

“I suppose so,” Kili said rather painfully. “Though I rather not talk about it…”

“Oh, I’m not talking about your death,” Thranduil said rolling his eyes. “I speak about the forest. I do not know how you survived. Although, Tauriel did tell me something of that Glorindor. Ugh, a most rambunctious fellow. Ill company, if you ask me.” He took another gulp of wine and thus finishing his second bottle. Promptly, another bottle of his red was brought to him. One of his elves poured him a fresh new glass which the Elven-King took swiftly to.

“I found him rather pleasant,” Kili replied.

“Oh, sure, you dwarves are easily impressed, are you not?” he said sipping his sweet wine. “I mean that as no offense. Please spare me outbursts on your behalf. Rather… I meant to talk about important things, yes. I meant to offer advice.”

“Advice?” Kili repeated quizzically.

His reply somehow made Thranduil’s eyes become fixed on him, scrutinizing everything from his appearance to his half-eaten plate. The same gaze had Thorin bestowed on him and Fili when they were foolish, reckless, or both. The gaze he recognized, but its manner was different. Kili felt a sudden sympathy for Legolas, for although Thorin’s gaze was stern, it never lacked for warmth. Thranduil’s, on the other hand, was cold and almost unfeeling. He felt a chill crept up his spine and he remedied by a taking a large gulp of his wine. The sweetness of the liquor was followed by some welcomed warmth and bitterness.

“You must take care to eat as well,” Thranduil warned. “Or else the wine will go to your head. But yes, advice. I have advice to give but whether you choose to take it or not, the choice is entirely yours.”

Kili took the first advice and managed some forkfuls of duck breast. “I am keen to listen,” he said.

“Very well,” Thranduil began. “Do you plan to do anything with the rings in your pocket?”

Kili almost spit out his duck. “Beg your pardon?” he choked.

“I ask if you plan to do anything of notoriety with the rings you carry, or is it another example of the dwarven lust for gold and silver?”

“How did you know?” Kili said still in shock.

Thranduil’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. He took another sip of wine. “I did not. You just told me yourself.”

Kili wanted to curse him but he took to his wine instead. His glass emptied and his face reddened all at once. Thranduil continued, “Truthfully, it matters little how the information came about. I had a faithful supposition and now I know. But the question still remains… Tell me, Dwarven Prince, do you plan to anything with them?”

Kili bit his lip. “Yes, I do plan to do something with them.”

“I see,” Thranduil said as finished his glass. “That much I hoped. And yet, I fear. For if you were bold enough, you would have asked her by now. And all rest would not transpire...”

“I am bold,” Kili answered tensely. “It’s just… it wasn’t the right timing. In the forest, I mean.”

“Tonight perhaps?” Thranduil said pouring two cups of wine himself. He handed one to Kili unexpectedly enough. “I am certain she shall seek you out. She might not make herself present for dinner, but alas she is too fond of you. She shall be too weak to not face you. And she is willful, no doubt. Yes, she is too sure of her convictions and they will not let her sway otherwise. But, yes, she shall seek you.”

“I do not understand…” Kili began.

“It matters naught,” Thranduil said scathingly. “It’s all already in motion. She is ever so certain. But here is where you and your rings come in. Here is where my advice begins. Ask her. At once. The first moment alone you get with her, do not let her speak. Ask her and do not hesitate.”

Kili felt ever so perplexed. “I don’t…”

“You do as I say,” the Elven-King said severely as he drunk the entirety of his wine glass. “As I advise,” he added sweetly.

Kili stared at him dumbfounded. _Am I drunk?_ he thought. _No, it takes me at least four ales. In wines… would that be five? Or three? How much have I drunk?_ “ _You_ want me to marry her?” he finally asked.

“No, _you_ want to marry her,” Thranduil corrected. “I am simply advising you on the best way to go about it. I am most naturally knowledgeable in elven courting, a thing which you, of course, could not have the slightest idea about.”

“But why?” Kili repeated. “I thought you hated me. I thought you hated all dwarves. Why would you be consenting of a dwarven and elven union?”

“I am not consenting,” Thranduil replied bitingly. “I am advising. But sure, what would be my own special interest in this affair, you ask? Simply put, your uncle’s utter displeasure would amuse me enough for the next hundred years to come. So, perhaps I advise you for the sake of my own pleasure.”

The Elven-King managed a smirk upon that remark, but Kili took it not. It seemed disingenuous, even if it was coming from Thranduil himself. “Do you hate Thorin that much?” he asked incredulously.

“Hate is a rather strong word,” Thranduil remarked as he made a motion for a fourth bottle of wine. “Abhorrence suits me better. Repulsion, even.”

“You, then, consent to me marrying Tauriel because of your repulsion for my uncle?”

“Sure, you can put that way if you must,” the Elven-King replied.

Kili felt dizzy, he was unsure on whether it was the wine or the conversation. “Do you think… do you think she would want to marry me?”

“Certainly,” Thranduil said. “Why not? You both have come this far, it’s only natural. Oh, how she dotes on you. I’m sure it would bring her great joy to have you ask. Only you must be passionate in your delivery. A bit desperate, even.”

“Desperate?” Kili echoed.

“Yes,” he replied drinking from his new full glass of red. “Be lavish and ever so grave. Tell me her tales about how you would rather perish than live without her. Describe your uttermost romantic feelings with vivid albeit morbid detail. Embellish your love. Agonize it. Mourn it. Have her be completely convinced that a separation shall kill you. That your love is the only tangible and possible outcome.”

Kili looked at the Elven-King with hesitation. “Wouldn’t that be insincere? Of course, I love her deeply, but it all seems so… extreme.”

“Yes, well naturally, of course,” Thranduil snapped. “Elvish affairs are naturally inclined to intense feelings and devotion. Naught which you would know about, of course.”

“I know of it!” Kili replied fiercely. “My love for her is true enough. I do not doubt it, and neither will I have you speaking ill of it.”

The Elven-King managed a grin. He sipped his wine silently before he spoke again. “Then? Do as I say. Do as I say, and this might all end well.”

“Take your advice, you mean?” Kili said. “In truth, I do not understand. Pardon me if I profane or offend, but I do not fully know if your intentions are good. This advice is odd to hear… Especially coming from you who hates my kind and kin most of all.”

Thranduil glanced at him wearily. “I do not hate your kind. I do hate most of your kin, that much is true. But, like I have said, take my counsel or leave it. Toss your rings into the river for all I care. Do as you wish. But if you love her well, as well as you say, I strongly beseech you to hark my words.” 

Kili could only nod at that for his eyes remained ever fixed on the Elven-King. As if we were trying to complete the pieces of a lost puzzle. _What’s in it for him? What does he want?_ he wondered.

The Elven-King cared naught for his gaze, he only remained stirring his wine and pondering. Alas, he spoke. “I do intend good. For you. But for Tauriel most of all. It is her whose intentions you should heed. For she intends good. Or so she believes. Yes, so she believes.”

Thranduil finished his glass and drank no more.

* * *

Dark was the night but bright was the moon. It glistened even through the trees of the Mirkwood kingdom, illuminating the cave and giving it a surreal glow.

He found it pretty enough, but not at all like Erebor. Nothing was quite like Erebor, he often found. He did not feel homesick, in truth, but rather wary of the place. He did not know Thranduil’s realm and he found himself a stranger in it. Yet a walk felt necessary to Kili. He needed to clear his head for however much wine he had had, it had been too much. He felt dizzy from both the liquor and Thranduil’s words. _Strange_ , he thought. _Thorin forbids me to marry, Thranduil urges me to. Ever since I have come back from the death, the world has become stranger_. His only comfort now was the cool night air and the hopes of seeing her. _She promised._

He paused to admire the outlandish waterfalls that surrounded him. They all must lead to the same river, perhaps even the one he had gazed on with Glorindor. He wondered how the elf was, perhaps Tauriel had gone to see him herself. _Perhaps she wanted to thank him for saving my life_ , Kili mused. _Or sparing it._ He noticed a narrow waterfall that plunged rather deeply. It seemed familiar to him. Was this the one from went into the cells? A very nice prison it had been, but a prison, nonetheless. But that had quickly changed for Tauriel’s presence had changed everything. He dared recall his boldness with his speech and his openness with she who was his captor. And yet, she had responded to his infatuations. She had listened to his tale, about his mother, about the Fire Moon, and more. The stories he told her. _Silly stories_ , he thought _. Silly stories about me and Fili. Perhaps too embellished to be believed._ Yet she had listened to them all with her eyes wide and a soft smile. She spoke little but it satisfied him enough. Her few words said everything she did not. It was clear to him she was one to behold her thoughts. Every word was carefully planned. Every thought was smoothed out. And emotions? There were none, or so she would like to think. They slipped out of her every now and then, and he took much joy in catching them. A slip of a laugh, a tiny blush, a glance of her glossy eyes, all were few and precious. He liked her very well, then. He did not know, however, when he fell in love.

Had it been when she had wielded her bow against the orcs, saving his life? Or had it been when she had healed him, her face beaming with starlight and speaking magic words? Or perhaps it was when she met him last at the lake and her eyes had spoken as clearly as ever? _Maybe it is none_ , he mused. _Maybe I have loved her since the first time I laid eyes on her. And only I realized when I was in the middle and not when it began._ Could love be so elusive that one did not know when it was happening? This he began to ponder when he heard footsteps approaching. And just, then, as if he had conjured her with his thoughts, she emerged from the shadows.

“Admiring the waterfalls?” Tauriel asked gazing at him with the eyes he loved so well.

“A bit,” he replied. “I was mostly reminiscing. Why weren’t you at the banquet? I was all alone with Thranduil.” He took her hand, she felt cold or perhaps he was warm. He could not tell.

“I was busy with things that needed attending to,” she said carefully. “He didn’t treat you ill, did he?”

Kili laughed. “Oh, he most certainly did not. You would be surprised to what he said, however. I should tell you so you could laugh just as well. But, by Mahal, does he drink!”

Tauriel managed a small grin. “He does. How many bottles did he have?”

“Three.”

“That is different,” she said. “He normally has two for dinner.”

“Does he ever get drunk?” Kili asked a bit shocked.

“Seven or more will get him a little indiscreet,” Tauriel said rather bemused. “Come, I want to show you something.” 

He followed her gladly, and he followed her blindly for she pulled him into the shadows. They passed a few dark areas of the halls, almost like caves until alas the light of the moon befell them once more. And it was wonderous to behold as they got close. It was a beautiful opening resembling a balcony. The night was suddenly full of stars and the moon half full and white.

“It’s my favorite place in here,” she admitted. “You can see all the stars. As a child, I loved coming here. I believed if it was truly dark enough, I could see Elbereth dance. Her dance is one of the stars, they’re in her hair, I’m certain. Or perhaps her eyes. If I confess, I haven’t decided. A bit silly to ponder, is it not?”

“No,” he replied gazing not at the stars. “But I believe the stars are in her eyes. Yes, I am certain they are in her eyes.”

“Do you speak of her, in truth? Or do you speak of another?” she asked lightly.

“I speak of one who has stars in her eyes,” he said looking at her intently.

Tauriel smiled as purely as ever, making him recall the many smiles she had spared him in the cells. The moon further enhanced her beauty, it painted her face with silver colors and highlighted her features so finely. Her eyes… her eyes were stars, most naturally.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her a hundred times. But it was not possible. Their height difference was as painfully obvious as ever before, yet this particular time stung him a bit. To ask her to lean forward was feasible, no doubt, but it would ruin the spontaneity of the kiss he so longed to give her. He made a compromise, then. “Tauriel, could we sit?”

“Sit?” she repeated. “Oh, yes of course. You must be tired.”

He was not tired, but he did not correct her. As they sat on the ground, they gazed up at the stars and the waxing moon. Kili moved as close to her as possible, his arms touching hers. She did not stir and only looked at him tenderly albeit with shyness. And he could not withhold any longer. He leaned forward and so did she. When their lips met, he felt the warmth return to her. He caressed her face, it felt soft in his hand. He parted her hair away from it and noted once again how lovely her face looked in the light.

“Kili…” she whispered.

“Yes?” he answered in the same manner.

“Kili,” she repeated slowly. “I must… I want to speak to you about something. Something I have been thinking of…”

“Of course,” he said. “I, too, want to speak to you about something…”

“Yes? Do tell me,” she said eagerly.

He remembered Thranduil’s advice at once. To not let her speak and to ask her immediately and without delay. And yet as he fumbled with the silver rings in his pocket, he could not move forward. His tongue became tied. His heart was drumming in his chest. He was courageous enough to ask but… Perhaps the moment was not right. _It is right_ , his mind shot back at him. _There’s a beautiful view. A lovely moon. You have the stars. Even a waterfall somewhere, what else do you want?_ He looked into Tauriel’s green eyes, there was a tenderness in them, but a darkness that dwelt upon them as well. And a sadness that had not left ever since the forest. _I seek reassurance_ , he realized. And he could not find it within her. Something was upon her mind. Something haunted her mind. _Let her speak first. Let her unburden her heart. Only then I shall unburden mine._ “No, you go first,” he finally said. “You tell me of your thoughts and then I shall tell you of mine.”

Tauriel nodded her head rather defeatedly. “Well, I was thinking... I was thinking that perhaps you should back to Erebor.”

Kili sighed and leaned back in relief. “I know what you’re going to tell me. That I should forgive Thorin, that he’s my uncle, and my king and he did what he thought was right. That I still have time to make peace with him and you are right. But I don’t think he would take very kindly to us just walking into Erebor. Oh, no he would have a fit—”

“No, I meant you would go to Erebor by yourself…” she interjected.

“Of course!” he said with a laugh. Go back to the Lonely Mountain with Tauriel? How silly of him to think of that. Thorin would not like it one bit. “You are much brighter than I am. It should only be me who returns. Your presence would provoke his ire, no doubt of that. Perhaps I go first and settle him down. Wait a few days… let the storm pass. Then you come and meet me! Yes, that is a more sensible plan—"

“No, Kili, I am afraid you misunderstand completely,” she said weakly. “I am not going with Erebor with you. Not now. Not ever.”

Kili reached for her hand. What was she talking about? Was she that afraid of Thorin’s wrath? No, she was certainly braver than that. Perhaps her nerves were getting the best of her. “Tauriel,” he said rather confused. He, then, pressed her hand but she withdrew it. And she withdrew her gaze and her head at once, as well.

“I believe it would be best,” she began, struggling a bit with the words. “If you returned by yourself and we parted ways.”

He chuckled nervously. Clearly her nerves were speaking because she would never say such a thing. “What are you saying? Tauriel, you are not serious, are you? You cannot be.”

And she did not protest. And she did not answer. And she did not speak. She did not even look at him and he knew at once. She had the same expression Thorin carried when he admitted his folly with the letter. There was shame and regret and most of all, fear. “Tauriel,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

She did as he bid and Kili wished he had not asked for her eyes were pools of sorrow. Heavy and pained was her face. He knew tears would fall if she was provoked. “You are serious,” he said astounded. “How? How can that be?”

“I have thought deeply about it,” she said. “I have thought thoroughly about it. I have examined it from every possible angle. We have rushed and we have let our feelings guide us. Now they advise us wrongly—”

“Well, of course you let feelings guide you,” he replied alarmed. “That is how love works, is it not? How can you think poorly of that? Did… did Thranduil tell you anything when you met him privately? Anything that makes you doubt us now?”

“Thranduil has nothing to do with it,” she answered sternly. “In fact, he advised me against ending things so rashly…”

 _Of course_ , he thought. _Of course, of course, of course. He knew. He knew what she planned to do all along. He didn’t care if she wanted to marry me or not, he just wanted me to capitalize on her pity._ He felt sick to his stomach. He did not know if it was the sticky sweet wine he had, Thranduil’s poisoned counsel, or Tauriel’s bitter words.

“Rashly? Is that what you call it?” he asked bitingly. “I have only been alive one day and you now wish to get rid of me. Rashly is not the word I would use… Cruel. Insincere. False.”

The last one had pricked her the most and he knew it would. Her eyes grew wide in the accusation. “I have never been false with you,” she said. “Not once. My heart was cleaved when you died, and it became whole again when I saw you. I am beyond relieved to have you alive. I am freed because you are alive. I only wish your complete happiness now that you have an entire life ahead of you. And you are a prince! Surely you would not throw it away…”

“Throw it away?” Kili echoed in disbelief. “Have you ever even asked me if I wished to be prince? Have you even thought of asking my own feelings or are you too content in feeling them for me?”

“Surely you want the best for your people,” Tauriel said kindly. “You would be most marvelous at it, I am certain. You care deeply for others, you have a great heart—”

“You sound just like Thorin,” he said wearily.

“But it is true,” she continued. “If you wanted to be with me… if you wanted to marry me, you could not achieve any of those things. You could not be a prince. Your line would end with you…”

“But I don’t care for any of those things!” he exclaimed. “I only care about you. I only want to be with you. Is that so difficult to understand?”

“It is not,” she said faintly. Her voice had become more broken than before. Her eyes were glossy. He wanted to comfort her, but he also found himself unable to. Her words had stung him so and he would not let them go without an apology. _Or if she just said she loved me,_ he thought. _If she just says she loves me that would be enough._

“I understand you, Kili,” Tauriel continued. “But I do not understand _this_. It is not safe for it is ever uncertain. Nothing is promised. All is doomed.”

“What are you talking about?” he said as he drew close to her. He managed to touch her shoulder and she seemed to lean into his touch. “What troubles you, Tauriel?” he added tenderly.

“You will die,” she suddenly spit out. “You will die, again. And I will watch, again.”

Her voice was heavy. Her tone cold. And he understood. “You fear my death?”

“I fear everything,” she confessed. A single tear fell upon her cheek. “Your brief life. Your eventual death. An afterlife in which we shall not meet in. Everything.”

Kili had considered all those things before, but only briefly. His love for Tauriel always felt stronger than them. “Worry not of things that have not passed,” he said wiping her tears. “I am only seventy-eight. I have at least two hundred years to go.”

“Two hundred?” she repeated incredulously. “I have lived thrice the amount of that and believe me it is nothing. It passes in a blink of an eye. One moment and then it’s gone. Will I have you so briefly? Will I hold you so briefly?”

“No,” he said taking her by the hand. “You can hold me now…”

She jerked away and shook her head. “No… you don’t understand.”

“I know the differences between elves and dwarves,” Kili said desperately. “I understand that time passes differently to us both. I know you’re immortal. I know my life is so brief compared to yours. But I meant what I told you before by the shores of Laketown, I am not afraid—"

“But I am!” she cried. “I am. I am ever so afraid. You die. Two hundred years or three hundred, it matters not. You die, I watch. I remain on Middle-Earth. I wait another thousand years, perhaps. Less if my grief becomes so heavy that I cannot move. I part to Valinor and I wait and wait. You never come. You cannot come. I shall live forever there. Forever severed from you. That is the life that I will have. Do not tell me you are not afraid when you do not know the grief forever can hold.”

He did not know what to say. Her face was stained by tears and he felt his own swell with them. He could not stop death and he could not stop her either, it seemed. “Tauriel…”

“It is but for the best,” she said softly. “Let it all be a dream, a sweet dream. It does not have to grow dark or old. It does not have to die. Let it live in memory. Let darkness not touch it…” She then reached to touch his cheek, but it was this time he who recoiled. He could not stand it. He felt her touch would burn him. He felt her touch would scar him.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

“I do not want this… it is what is supposed to be done.”

He nodded. “Then it shall be. I dare not contradict you. Surely, you must know best, you who have lived longer than I. You who knows more than I. And I dare not upset you any longer. I will take my leave to Erebor as you asked. I do ask you to forgive me for taking much of your time. But you have so much of it, do you not? Perhaps I shall forgive you for taking much of mine.”

He then turned his back to hers and walked away. Heavy were his footsteps, heavy his heart, and heavy the rings in his pocket.

“Kili…” she said as she tried to touch his shoulder, but he jerked away so violently, he hurt his shoulder wound in the process. He cried out in pain.

“Does it hurt?” she asked concerned.

He had to laugh at that.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked horrified.

“You shouldn’t have missed,” he said most bitterly. “The arrow would have hurt less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I promise there is a happy ending and I am very sorry for the pain I'm causing. Kili and Tauriel are truly a cautionary tale of Gryffindors getting together.


	14. Amrâlimê

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay back for another great slice of angst. Except from another pov? Yay? Nay? 
> 
> (also we don't quite pick up where we left at but rather rewind it from Tauriel's pov)

The door closed behind her. At once, the air grew cold and the light dim. It always felt like this without him, in truth. He was gone for a moment and yet she missed him all the same. _He worries_ , she mused. _Kili worries on what I might do. They both do._

Indeed, Kili was not only the one with concerns for once the door had closed behind them Thranduil had dropped his kingly face. His smug smile fell and revealed a look of genuine concern. Such was the look he bestowed upon Tauriel and Legolas when they had a set a fox loose in the palace. They had been young, then, and reckless, too. They had intended to nurse the poor beast back into health for a hunter’s stray arrow had come upon him. Tauriel had been the one who had insisted ever so passionately, and poor Legolas had had no choice but to oblige. But the fox had only ended up causing havoc. Hostile because of his wound and sick with fever he had bitten several elves. Thranduil had taken no joy in having to put the animal down but he had had much more disdain for the two young elves. Now Tauriel stood upon his halls once again, right in front his throne, and with the same cold gaze he greeted her. A gaze of both worry and disapproval. _What do you intend do now?_ it asked. _What have you gotten into your head that you may deem for the greater good?_

He spoke first, by nature. “What is it now, Tauriel?” His voice had no trace of warmness or welcome. His voice was strained, and yet she detected bits of sadness in it.

“I do not know,” she said honestly. “I do not know at all.”

She found it easier to breathe now that Kili was gone. She could think while he was gone. With him, all her common sense was blurred, and she saw only with her heart. And her heart only cared to be near him and little for much else. It only beat for him, it only loved him. _He’s alive_ , she thought. _He’s alive, how can that be? Is it still a dream?_

“Well?” Thranduil asked growing impatient. “Is that all? Should you not be filled with joy? The most blessed elf in all of Arda, are you not? Has not your love at last returned to you? Why are you not happy? Why must you worry me so?” Her King rubbed his temple, his crown never stirring from his golden head. “What is it now, Tauriel?”

“He will die,” she said at last. 

It was all she could say and yet it was all she needed to say. The joy when she had kissed him had soon been replaced with ashes in her mouth. She had realized that much when she had laid upon his chest. His heart had beat rhythmically, it had beat wonderfully. Each beat she had felt in her own heart. Each beat had been her own. And it was then that she realized she could never live without him. If he was to die again, then she might as well perish for her life would be devoid of feeling. And yet she knew that could not be so. She was immortal and therefore tied to the world until the end of time. Even if her life on Arda was somehow ended by blade or injury, she would only reawaken in the halls of Mandos. And, in Valinor, somewhere, she would dwell for evermore. She would never see Kili again, and the heartbeat she now heard so well should become a long-faded memory. It had been plain to her then and there. No matter how many happy years they would endure, an eternity of separation lay before them. And Death would lurk on every corner, waiting ever so patiently for Kili to succumb to it. She would feel it on every kiss and every caress. All that she held dear would soon turn into ashes and these ashes would cover her to the end of days. Thus, this was the future she saw. The only future she could see. 

Yet Thranduil seemed not see it. “Of course, he will,” he said exasperated. “What do you expect? He is mortal! You are lucky to love a dwarf, however. For they do live longer than men…”

“Three hundred years…” she said bitterly.

“Yes, some do live to that age,” he replied wearily.

“Three hundred years is not enough!” Tauriel exclaimed. “Three hundred years is nothing. You know. Do not pretend you do not know. You have lived far longer than me and know just as well. They are nothing. They pass and are gone in a sunset, in the blink of an eye. Three hundred years are not felt. They are not remembered. They are forgotten. They are left to dust… Tell me, why should I savor joy for a mere three hundred years, when at the end, only ashes will be left?”

“Tauriel,” Thranduil said slowly. “You do not know what you say. You are in shock at this news and this reveal—”

“Tell me, did you know?” she cried. “Did you know he lived?”

“No,” her King said simply enough. “Had I known I would have told you. Thorin is a secretive king, why would he tell me one of his nephews survived? In truth, King Bard told me a rumor he had heard, but a rumor it was, and I could not trust it. I assure you: I did not know which nephew it was that the rumor pertained to and I could not call you back in false hope.”

“False hope,” she echoed. “And yet it is all that remains now.”

“Tauriel,” Thranduil began more sternly. “Tell me, what is it that has gotten into your head? Are you so ignorant to not see what is in front of you?”

She looked at her King with tears in her eyes. She was ashamed to cry so openly before him, a thing she had not done since she had been a child or lived through her first hundred years. A thing she had not done since he had perhaps slayed the poor, sick fox. But, now, she could not help it otherwise. “I see and it brings me no comfort.”

“You cry,” he said. “But tears will bring no avail to us. Hark this: your lover lives. The lover you have mourned for months. The lover you have given your heart to. He lives and he walks well among these walls. Go to him, be happy, be wed, do as you wish and pay no heed to your own dark thoughts and doubts.”

“I wish I could,” she confessed. “But I cannot ignore what has been revealed. It brings me deep joy to see him live, it has mended my heart… But to stay with him… To stay with him, in complete blind bliss may it be, would only break my heart again, this time piece by piece. I know what is ahead, Thranduil. I know and it haunts me.”

“Your departure?” he asked dully. “It most natural, Tauriel. It cannot be helped. Your bond will be sundered, eventually, of course. It is the nature of it. Do not pretend to be surprised of the choice of Luthien. You know the tale well enough. Such is the choice of loving the mortal kind. Oh, I wish I had wine.”

Thranduil once again rubbed his temple and his eyes. She knew him to be true in his words, but she still found no solace in them. “I know the tale and yet I am no Luthien,” she replied sadly. “If he were to die again, I cannot go and claim him. He will not be found in the halls of Mandos…”

“Most naturally!” Thranduil interjected. “And why would he? He is not of our kind, Tauriel. Love him as well as you can, love him as much as you can. But all that will not make him of elven-blood. Our resting places are different, our final journeys will never be the same.”

Another stray tear rolled down upon her cheek. _Was it ever so hopeless?_ she thought. _Has it all been for nothing?_

Her King looked at her most wistfully. It was rare to find pity in the eyes of the Elven-King and yet there it was. “Why must you mourn what has not happened?” he continued. “All these are future woes. Be grateful for the bountiful present that awaits you. Kiss him and wed him. Be merry. Do not dwell on these things.”

“And what should you wish me to dwell on?” she asked bitingly. “My marriage which would be shunned by both elves and dwarves? Your approval comes most apprehensively, may I remind you. Only after he lay dead in my arms did you bless the union. Now, Thorin does as much. He has banished Kili from both the Lonely Mountain and his title. He cannot be prince while he loves me. He cannot be prince if he were to marry me…”

“I’d say he cared little for the title,” Thranduil observed.

“That may be,” Tauriel said carefully. “But banishment? I cannot have him be parted from the home he has. From his family… I have none myself, blood family, I mean. I cannot let him fall prey to Thorin’s prejudice.”

“I’m afraid that’s not for you decide,” her King rebuked. “It is his choice. As a prince he can do as he wishes and Thorin as a king can do just as much.”

“So, forsake his blood, forsake his title? Forsake everything for love?” Tauriel echoed incredulously.

“Well, you were well prepared to do such a thing when you cast your arrow upon my person,” he replied unamused.

Tauriel reddened in shame. “I… I was not thinking.”

“Clearly that is one thing you and the young dwarf prince have in common,” Thranduil concluded. “That should make a harmonious marriage enough.”

“Marriage?” she repeated. “A most brief marriage. And what is to come of it? Children? Are such things even possible?”

She had never even considered the possibility of children before. Mostly because she did not entertain the idea of it being a prospect. No such thing had ever been sung or heard in the history of Arda. And this was because no mating of Elf and Dwarf had ever occurred. It was most strange to ponder upon. Not the mating part, that she both longed and hoped for, but rather the probability of conception. She had always liked children and was fond of small things, but motherhood had never been certain for her. Once she had set her heart upon Kili, things had become even more unlikely and even vague at that. She was not guaranteed children, nor did she deeply desire them. To love him would be enough. And should conception happen, it would be most unexpected but thoroughly welcomed. Yet these thoughts were fresh and new to her.

“I do not know,” Thranduil admitted interrupting her thoughts. “But I would certainly be interested in seeing such a rarity. A most strange thing it would be…”

“Would they die?” she suddenly asked. “Would they be presented the Choice? Like Luthien and her kin before her?”

Thranduil rubbed his chin. “It is hard to say. The children of Iluvatar are one thing, but the children of Aulë…”

“Mahal,” Tauriel said. “That’s what the dwarves call him. Maker, it means…”

“Yes, maker or so I’ve heard,” Thranduil said thoughtfully. “It still means little to you and your children, if there could be any, of course. Would they be mortal? Perhaps. Or perhaps elven blood is thicker? Would immortality call to them? Yes, the Choice… Would it even matter? It is all is unknown, Tauriel. It is best to not dwell on these things. There are no answers to these questions.”

“No answers,” she repeated. “And no hope. Tell me, should children come of this union, do I dare condemn them to mortality? Can I bare to watch them die while I live on?” She knew the answer to that question.

Thranduil sighed. “I suppose that is a risk you shall have to take. You were always reckless, why should you now be any different?”

Tauriel remained silent, but her King did not. He leaned forward from his throne. “Tell me, you who have always plunged into danger without a single thought, sought adventure well along with all her perils, you who have always thrown caution to the wind and let said wind guide your heart. You who have always found life to be a game of chance, of will and courage. Why do you hesitate? Why do you delay? Why do you fear?”

“Because it’s real,” she answered at last. “And I have all to lose. It is no ordinary game… It goes beyond me and whatever my heart may desire. I must choose the right course of action, the right choice. I must follow despite how much I wish not to…”

“You do not plan to marry the dwarf,” Thranduil concluded. His face grew stern and his voice icy. “You do not plan to be united with him. You plan to part from him. At once. You plan to send him back to Erebor…”

“It is not that simple,” she began.

“Oh no, but it is!” he rebuked angrily. “You mourn for lost love, you wish and wish for a miracle to befall you and at the first opportunity, at the first chance of happiness, you squander it. You beat it down senselessly. You break it into a million pieces. Tauriel, pray tell me, how does one plan to break their own heart after only had it mended? Are you truly in love with him or are you bewitched by your pain?”

Her face grew red, heated by both his words and assumptions. “ _Do not!_ Do not dare say I do not love him. I love him dearly. I love him ardently. I love him more than life itself. I love him and that is why I must let him go. He lives now, is that not enough? I love him so dearly that it is enough for me. If he lives and he is well, then I am well. He ought to be prince and make his kingdom proud. He ought to have a family and live well into age without worrying about wounding his wife with his death. He should not have guilt over dying, it is most natural to his kin. Why have your heart bound to someone who shall live in perpetual agony over your death? Why should he suffer? Why should I suffer? Is it not kind to release us both from this pain?”

Tears were streaming down her face. She did not know when she had started crying but she could not seem to stop. She did not know whom she was crying for. For her? For Kili? For the little fox she tried to heal but had caused his death instead? She knew not.

“I see…” Thranduil said slowly. His voice seemed forlorn and yet he only sighed. “You have set your heart upon this, then? The Valar help us. If you would heed my counsel, Tauriel, just once. Do not be rash upon this choice. You will break his heart just as you are breaking yours.”

“I must,” she replied. “I must…”

“Give it a day, a week, a month,” he insisted.

“No, that would only fester the wound,” Tauriel interjected. “The longer I spend in his company, the less I will to part from him.”

“Will you not regret it?” he asked.

“I regret it already,” she answered.

Thranduil rubbed his face and sighed deeply once more. “What good is it to be a king when I cannot command you to obey...”

“Obey you, My King?” Tauriel asked.

“No, obey your heart. Grief ill-advises you, fear speaks for you, doubt clouds your mind. But I know your will and nothing I say will break its spell.”

She looked down at her feet, unaware of what to say.

“How I long for wine,” Thranduil confessed tiredly. “You shall tell him tonight, won’t you? Will not wait after dinner?”

“Yes, I believe I will.”

“Good. May he be drunk when you speak to him. Perhaps the wound will hurt less.”

“I have already wounded him, in truth,” she said shamefully. “In the forest, I thought him an enemy and I pierced his shoulder.”

Thranduil managed to laugh at that. “ _You_ missed?”

“The light was in my eyes,” she answered defensively. “I could not see…”

“It seems to be a recurring problem today,” Thranduil said.

“A most fortunate thing,” she said ignoring him.

“Truly,” he said. “He lives, but at what cost? He would treasure a broken body over a broken heart, I’m sure.”

“You do not know him,” she said.

“No,” he confessed. “But I do not believe you do any better. Tell me, do you believe this brave albeit stupidly rash dwarf will accept your words? Will he walk away from you when he has come so far?”

“I believe he will, if I ask him,” Tauriel said with certainty. “I believe he will listen to what I have to say and accept it for what it is.”

“Certainly,” Thranduil said. “And rather unfortunately for both of you. Now if you have nothing else to befuddle me with, I suggest you take your leave and go plan your heinous little scheme away from me.”

Tauriel shook her head at the accusation but she had known he would not understand. How could he? His lost love was immortal. He would be reunited with her in the halls of Mandos. Although, their love had ended quickly and abruptly, they would once more rejoin in Valinor. One last time and for evermore. She was jealous, she was bitter. “Thank you for your counsel, my lord.”

“Do not thank me for advice you have not taken,” he said wearily behind her.

A thought came to her and thus she turned around to speak again. “Tell me, if your wife… if you could be reunited with her. For one last time, I mean. For one last time only. And after that one time, you would never see each other ever again, would you take it? Would you take the pleasure and joy of that meeting? Would you savor each kiss knowing it would turn to ashes in your mouth when the sun set? Would you relish her face when it would only ever exist again in memory? Would you?”

Thranduil looked at her. In one of those rare times, her King’s eyes were sad and in one of those even rarer times, he did not have words for her. And though he did not answer, she knew the answer all the same.

* * *

Night fell and the moon haunted her. It seemed like an eye, watching her intently and scrutinizing her. Tauriel felt the pit in her stomach widen. She had not eaten, nor did she feel like eating. Hunger was the last thing on her mind, and yet she began to think she should have. She felt weaker every step she took and yet heavier all the same _. I must get through this_ , she thought solemnly. _The faster it is done, the less I’ll have to suffer for it._ But was that true? Thranduil had planted doubts in her. Was she being truly wise or merely rash? No doubt the King found her to be stricken by one of her righteous fancies, but to her it was much more than that. _No, I would not gamble with my own heart._ Nor would she with his.

She had purposely avoided the dinner with Thranduil and Kili. She could not handle the disapproving eyes of one and the loving eyes of another. Furthermore, the latter’s gaze would only weaken her will. Any resolution she could have would immediately vanish with just one devoted look on his part. She loved him too well, to the point of neglecting her own original wishes. No, distance between the two of them was the most certain and safest way forth. Tauriel has spent her afternoon, and most of her evening, walking and admiring what she could of the kingdom. She had spent her time listening to trees and gazing at water. Perhaps in hopes they would eventually speak to her and beckon her the way forward. _Why do I still linger? Why do I still doubt_ , she asked them. But no reply came. Only leaves falling, summer dwindling and autumn rearing its wistful head. Even the wind was chilling. It had felt so much warmer earlier that day. When she had been with him, everything had seemed golden and warm.

 _The air tasted sweeter_ , Tauriel thought. There had been no ominous future. Nothing to consider. Nothing to think and ponder upon. _Only the sun, the breeze, and him._ They had been truly happy, had they not? Just to lie underneath the tree had been enough. Just to lie with each other had sufficed. Why could they not just go back to that? Why did she need think about grim things that had yet to come? _Because the wind is changing. The nights get colder. Time passes. Summer ends._ It was dark, yet ever so clear. She would meet with him as she had promised. She would find him here in the dark and she would tell him. And he would understand. He had to, but Thranduil had nursed some doubts in her. He thought Kili would never agree to separate from her so easily. _Will he put a fight? Will he rebuke everything I say?_ she began to wonder. Half of her hope he didn’t, the other half wished he did.

That was when she found him. Not in the dark, but in the bright light of the moon. The sight of Kili lessened the pit of her stomach. Despite whatever she intended to do, or the dark clouds surrounding her thoughts, he brought light and warmth to her. He soothed her at once, regardless of the wound she carried within. He seemed to be admiring the waterfalls which oddly amused her. _Does he never ceased to be amazed by things around him?_ She found herself so clever when she spoke to him. “Admiring the waterfalls?”

“A bit,” he said turning around to face her. His was so handsome in the moonlight. “I was mostly reminiscing. Why weren’t you at the banquet? I was all alone with Thranduil.”

He reached for her hand, he felt warm _. He’s just like summer, presently warm and soon to fade._ How she hated mortality. “I was busy with things that needed attending to,” she replied. “He didn’t treat you ill, did he?”

“Oh, he most certainly did not,” he said laughing. How she loved his laugh so well. “You would be surprised to what he said, however, I should tell you so you could laugh just as well. But, by Mahal, does he drink!”

She recalled Thranduil’s drinking habits. Legolas and Tauriel had only truly seen him drunk but once. And it had been the cause of at least a dozen bottles of wine. “He does. How many bottles did he have?”

“Three,” he answered.

That was strange. _He must have been truly upset at my words_ , she mused. “That is a bit different. He normally has two for dinner.”

“Does he ever get drunk?”

“Seven or more will get him a little indiscreet,” Tauriel said recalling that one summer festival when he drank those twelve bottles. How he tripped on his robes and how they had laughed so well. Another summer gone and to be forgotten. “Come, I want to show you something.” 

She wanted to tell him in a private place, she wanted to do it properly. And yet when she took a hold of his hand once again, she felt her heart flutter and her thoughts dwindle. She only pulled him forward, eager to show her most beloved place to him. Perhaps the opening what known to all, but it remained ever precious to her. This much she said when they arrived. “It’s my favorite place in here. You can see all the stars. As a child, I loved coming here. I believed if it was truly dark enough, I could see Elbereth dance. Her dance is one of the stars, they’re in her hair, I’m certain. Or perhaps her eyes. If I confess, I haven’t decided. A bit silly to ponder, is it not?”

“No,” he said looking upon her with his bright eyes. “But I believe the stars are in her eyes. Yes, I am certain they are in her eyes. 

She felt herself blush and thanked the night for the dark. “Do you speak of her, in truth? Or do you speak of another?”

“I speak of one who has stars in her eyes,” he replied. He gazed at her and she felt herself weak at once. It would be too easy to not say anything. Of her thoughts, of her doubts, of her fears… She feared nothing, she doubted nothing, and she thought nothing in his presence.

“Tauriel, could we sit?” he said suddenly.

“Sit?” she said taken aback. Did his wound still pain? Or perhaps he had not rested enough, and he felt still weary. “Oh, yes of course. You must be tired.”

They sat and looked together upon the starry sky. Never was the night fairer and never was it ever so bleak. To say the words seemed impossible, then. Even less likely they were to be said when Kili moved closer to her. He felt warm to the touch and he gazed at her tenderly so. Before she knew it, they kissed. It tasted like wine, sweet but then bitter. _How can I do what I must do?_ “Kili…” she managed to say as he caressed her face.

“Yes?” he said softly.

 _All the fruit tastes sweet but it will soon rot when winter comes,_ she told herself. _Summer is behind us._ “Kili, I must… I want to speak to you about something,” she began. “Something I have been thinking of…”

“Of course,” he said eagerly. “I, too, want to speak to you about something…”

She was surprised yet still intrigued. _Does he have his own doubts? Hidden very well from me, but nonetheless there. Or perhaps there is something else..._ Thranduil had brought up marriage. Kili couldn’t be possibly be contemplating that, could he? It was too soon, too sudden. And yet if he asked what would she say? “Yes? Do tell me.”

He remained quiet for a brief moment until he spoke at last. “No, you go first. You tell me of your thoughts and then I shall tell you of mine.”

She nodded her head with disappointment. What had she hoped _? If he had asked to marry me… If… Then… I could have not said no._ But it was useless to consider what was not. “Well, I was thinking...” she said slowly. “I was thinking that perhaps you should back to Erebor.”

To her great surprise, Kili merely shrugged. “I know what you’re going to tell me,” he sighed. “That I should forgive Thorin, that he’s my uncle, and my king and he did what he thought was right. That I still have time to make peace with him and you are right.”

He had completely misunderstood her, and she did not know where to correct the mistake. Granted, it was natural. Kili parting without her? Unthinkable. And yet that’s what he needed to realize. She felt befuddled and embarrassed all at once. Kili, however, took no notice of it. He continued his train of thought, “But I don’t think he would take very kindly to us just walking into Erebor. Oh, no he would have a fit—”

“No, I meant you would go to Erebor by yourself…” Tauriel corrected him.

He laughed. _How can he laugh?_ she thought mortified. “Of course!” he said. “You are much brighter than I am. It should only be me who returns. Your presence would provoke his ire, no doubt of that. Perhaps I go first and settle him down.”

Tauriel was frustrated. Could she not be any more concise? Did she really need to spell it out for him and hurt herself further in the process? It pained her just to utter the first words and the pain would grow if she were to be so bold.

Kili continued on rambling, “Wait a few days… let the storm pass. Then you come and meet me! Yes, that is a more sensible plan—"

“No, Kili,” she finally interrupted. She swallowed hard as she spoke the last words. “I am afraid you misunderstand completely. I am not going with Erebor with you. Not now. Not ever.”

This time she was clear enough for Kili’s quizzical expression confirmed it so. He said naught and only reached for her hand. “Tauriel,” he said softly. She dared not look at his eyes for there her will would only die. And although, it weighted heavy on heart, she withdrew her hand from his. _We must start somewhere._

She drew strength from within and finished her thoughts. “I believe it would be best. If you returned by yourself and we parted ways.”

He managed to laugh, yet again. “What are you saying?” he said incredulously. “Tauriel, you are not serious, are you? You cannot be.”

She bit her tongue, for her nerves were clearly exasperated by the lightness of his tone. She wanted to chastise him for speaking so carelessly about their love and the imminent doom of it. She wanted to tell him he needed to understand. She wanted to tell him she loved him ever so dearly. She wanted to tell him never to leave her. She wanted to forbid him to die, most of all. But she said nothing. She did not even muster the courage to look at him.

“Tauriel,” he said again. “Look at me.” And she did. But it was useless, her eyes began to sting with tears and her heart at once break. His eyes were so lovely, and she felt immediate grief at parting with them. 

“You are serious,” he finally said with shock. “How? How can that be?”

She tried to explain herself as carefully as she could, despite the fact her emotions had already taken possession of her. “I have thought deeply about it. I have thought thoroughly about it. I have examined it from every possible angle. We have rushed and we have let our feelings guide us. Now they advise us wrongly—”

“Well, of course you let feelings guide you,” he said rather annoyed. “That is how love works, is it not? How can you think poorly of that? Did…did Thranduil tell you anything when you met him privately? Anything that makes you doubt us now?”

 _How can he think that?_ she wondered. _Especially when I have angered Thranduil by doing this exact thing._ “Thranduil has nothing to do with it. In fact, he advised me against ending things so rashly…”

“Rashly? Is that what you call it?” he rebuked. “I have only been alive one day and you now wish to get rid of me. Rashly is not the word I would use… Cruel. Insincere. False.”

Anger took hold of her. She had expected him to not understand, perhaps even accuse her of being cruel or bold in her actions. But insincere or false? That she would not take to. “I have never been false with you,” Tauriel said fiercely. “Not once. My heart was cleaved when you died, and it became whole again when I saw you. I am beyond relieved to have you alive. I am freed because you are alive. I only wish your complete happiness now that you have an entire life ahead of you. And you are a prince! Surely you would not throw it away…”

“Throw it away? Have you ever even asked me if I wished to be prince? Have you even thought of asking my own feelings or are you too content in feeling them for me?”

She sighed. Thranduil had said much of the same. “Surely you want the best for your people. You would be most marvelous at it, I am certain. You care deeply for others, and you have a great heart—”

“You sound just like Thorin.”

The accusation did not sting as much. _Perhaps Thorin is wiser than you think_ , she thought, at once. _Perhaps he was as wise as to not give you my letter._ But she did not say it. “But it is true. If you wanted to be with me… if you wanted to marry me, you could not achieve any of those things. You could not be a prince. Your line would end with you…”

“But I don’t care for any of those things!” Kili said passionately. “I only care about you. I only want to be with you. Is that so difficult to understand?”

She imagined Thranduil watching her from somewhere with cold eyes and mouthing the fatherly words, _I told you so_. It made her feel neither better nor worse. “It is not,” she said weakly.

She understood his feelings so well and she wanted to linger in them with him. She wanted to tell him he loved him, once again. She wanted to apologize at once for being so thoughtless, so brash in her own feelings and assumptions. But she could not. If she turned back now, she would never finish the task. _And winter will come_ , she mused. _For you, and then for me… when you are gone and I cannot hold you. Please._ “I understand you, Kili. But I do not understand _this_. It is not safe for it is ever uncertain. Nothing is promised. All is doomed.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked with sudden tenderness. He grew close to her and she did not have the strength to recoil. His voice was too sweet, and he felt too warm. He felt like summer melting her whole. “What troubles you, Tauriel?”

“You will die,” she confessed coldly. The winter of heart spoke, at last. “You will die, again. And I will watch, again.”

Yet, he did not stir. “You fear my death?” he asked.

“I fear everything,” she began. Tears began to finally fall, and she cared not to stop them. The rains of autumn. _Cold rain it is._ “Your brief life. Your eventual death. An afterlife in which we shall not meet in. Everything.”

Kili smiled. His smile was both beautiful and terrible. Beautiful because she adored it. Terrible because she would forego it. He wiped the tears from her cheeks gently. “Worry not of things that have not passed. I am only seventy-eight. I have at least two hundred years to go.”

 _Two hundred years_ , she thought bitterly. _Two hundred is nothing._ “Two hundred?” she cried out. “I have lived thrice the amount of that and believe me it is nothing. It passes in a blink of an eye. One moment and then it’s gone. Will I have you so briefly? Will I hold you so briefly?”

“No, you can hold me now…” he said taking her by the hand.

She shook her head in response. _Can he not see? Now is not forever. Now is passing. Now is gone._ “No…” she said taking her hand away from his, “you don’t understand.”

He did not react well to that. “I know the differences between elves and dwarves,” he said. “I understand that time passes differently to us both. I know you’re immortal. I know my life is so brief compared to yours. But I meant what I told you before by the shores of Laketown, I am not afraid—"

“But I am!” she finally said _. It is true what Thranduil said_ , she thought as her eyes filled with heavy tears. _Fear is the root of it, fear is the cause of it. But fear does not lie._ “I am. I am ever so afraid. You die. Two hundred years or three hundred, it matters not. You die, I watch. I remain on Middle-Earth. I wait another thousand years, perhaps. Less if my grief becomes so heavy that I cannot move. I part to Valinor and I wait and wait. You never come. You cannot come. I shall live forever there. Forever severed from you. That is the life that I will have. Do not tell me you are not afraid when you do not know the grief forever can hold.”

She had burdened all her fears to him. Did he think her coward? Did he think her weak? _I am not as brave as you_ , she told him in her mind. She wanted him to comfort her, to hold her or kiss her. But he only said her name, “Tauriel…”

“It is but for the best,” she said to herself, out loud. “Let it all be a dream, a sweet dream. It does not have to grow dark or old. It does not have to die. Let it live in memory. Let darkness not touch it…”

The words comforted her but did little to move Kili. Tauriel felt the need to reach out and touch his face. She wanted to feel his warmth one more time, one last time. But he jerked away. “Is this what you want?” he said. 

“I do not want this…” she said weakly, “it is what is supposed to be done.” _You understand. You forgive me, will you not? You love me, do you not?_

Kili nodded courtly. “Then it shall be. I dare not contradict you. Surely, you know best, you who have lived longer than I. You who knows more than I. And I dare not upset you any longer. I will take my leave to Erebor as you asked. I do ask you to forgive me for taking much of your time. But you have so much of it, do you not? Perhaps I shall forgive you for taking much of mine.”

His words were numb and left her cold. _Is this what winter feels like?_ What was left of her heart ached. “Kili…” she tried as she reached for him. But he recoiled so rashly that he hurt his wound in the process. He grunted out in sudden pain. 

“Does it hurt?” Tauriel asked in utter concern.

He only laughed bitterly in response.

 _How can he laugh? Does he not care?_ “Why are you laughing?” she asked.

“You shouldn’t have missed,” Kili said, his voice sour. “The arrow would have hurt less.”

He, then, left her. Not another word said. Not another glance spared. He left her alone and she said naught. He left her in the dark. He left her in what felt the winter of night. 

* * *

She had not slept yet the sun took her by surprise, nonetheless. Her pale, yellow light mocked her. It seemed all the light in the world had dimmed and only flickers of it remained on Arda. _It does not matter if the sun claims it is day_ , she thought. _To me it’s night. It will be always be night._ She had cried and she had wept and yet she felt no better. Her heart was pierced by blades, blades that she herself had wielded, and she was now bleeding of her own accord. _It was for the best. It was best. The pain would have come eventually. At least, he lives now. He breathes now. He leaves now._

She had managed to dress herself and go meet with the King. She would do her duty for it seemed to be all she had left. Thranduil, however, was not very pleased to see her. “You look terrible,” he said plainly when he laid eyes upon her.

Tauriel ignored him. “Prince Kili will be leaving today. Will you need me to escort him out of Mirkwood safely?”

“That much I feared,” he said. “No need. He has already left. I had others escort him.”

“He has left?” she repeated. _So soon… too soon_.

“Yes,” Thranduil answered tiredly. “What did you expect? For him to bid you goodbye? He left at dawn. He seemed rather upset with you. He was quite urging to leave, particularly without your knowledge of his departure. Can’t ever imagine how it came to that.”

Tauriel looked down, unsure of how much to reveal. “You were right.”

“Oh, how so?” he asked with false awe.

“He didn’t want to part from me. He didn’t understand… he says he did, but I don’t think he does,” she confessed.

The Elven-King managed a weary smile. “Well, that is because, unfortunately, he might just be a little less wise than you, Tauriel. Or perhaps he is wiser than you. I do not know. It is rather hard to tell from where I sit.”

She glared at her King with contempt. “You still think I have erred.”

“No, I don’t think,” he said thoughtfully. “I _know_ you have because you are most miserable.”

“Sometimes the wisest choice is not the happiest,” she said mildly.

“You speak truth, and yet I do not sense you feel either wise or happy,” Thranduil observed.

“I am satisfied with my decision,” she rebuked.

“Yes, satisfaction,” he said. “Perhaps that will suffice. Perhaps it will…”

But Thranduil’s words did not prove true this time. Nothing sufficed. Time passed. Hours came and went. Days crept up and left as quickly as they came. The forest changed naught. She changed naught. The pain did not change, either. It came and went but it was always constant. She did her duty. She patrolled the lands. She scouted. She took many night watches. She gazed upon stars. She glanced at the East now and then. She looked at the Lonely Mountain. Yet the wound remained. Her heart bled more and more each day. It did not stop, and it did not lessen. She felt a ghost of former self. A ghost who bled, nonetheless.

Many moons had seemed to pass when one day Thranduil called her forth. She had not seen him for a while, and she supposed and rightly guessed he had been avoiding her. It mattered little to her, she did not long for his company. In truth, she did not long for anyone’s company. No one but Kili did she long for. And that would never come again. 

“Yes?” she greeted her King politely. “How can I be of service?”

He had called her not in his throne room as usual, but rather in one of his private halls. This was typical of him when the subject matter was particularly tender or personal. It was a much informal meeting, she surmised, and yet Thranduil himself wore a queer expression. “ _Why_ are you still here?” he replied rather candidly.

Tauriel looked at him perplexed. “My King?”

“I thought surely by the third day you would be running back to him. Then when you did not, I thought then absolutely by the week’s end. Now, it’s been almost a fortnight and you remain here, miserable as ever.”

“It’s only been fortnight?” she asked incredulously. It had felt like months, years, decades since she had last seen him. She felt she had mourned for that much time at least _. But only a fortnight hence?_ she mused. _Has my heart bled for so little? Have the blades just been brief companions and not the ancient friends I believed?_

“Yes, only a fortnight,” Thranduil repeated annoyed. “But look at you! How would you know? You are a most wretched thing. I know you have mourned before but not under these particularly _silly_ circumstances. It’s especially irksome to me to see grieve what you yourself caused. Tauriel, you must know, I cannot have you moping around the palace. Everywhere you go you carry your grief with you. Even the woods are not immune to it. If I continue to let you be, I’m afraid you’ll depress the trees and sour the rivers.”

“It is not silly,” she answered solemnly.

“No, you are right,” Thranduil admitted. “It is madness! You were mad in loving a dwarf, no doubt about it. But now, you are insanity itself by denying yourself from said love. Surely you convinced yourself of your noble reasons, and even I did my part by indulging you in them. In truth, I did not believe you would succeed in this folly and yet here we are. But now, I implore you, give up this farce at once!”

“It is no farce,” she retorted. “My heart bleeds, yet it is no farce. I know what awaits me. I was not offered The Choice and yet I chose, nonetheless. I chose the truth. I chose the bitter.”

“No,” Thranduil complained. “There is also the sweet. You have chosen only the bitter, foregoing all sweetness in this world.”

“Sweetness?” she echoed. “There is no sweetness in death, you and I both know that.” She took back the words as soon as they left her mouth. She never dared talk about Thranduil’s own loss and yet it did not matter much now. Nothing seldom did.

“Death,” he said slowly. There was no anger in his eyes, nor contempt or even offense. His eyes only harbored a glimmer of wistful pensiveness that seem to grow smaller by the second. “Yes, I know of it. I have thought of the question you asked me before. I have thought and reflected upon it. Now, I know.”

“The question…” she repeated confused, until she knew.

“A kiss,” Thranduil began. “One single kiss can last a lifetime. When you thought Kili dead, did you not hold that last kiss dear in your heart? One embrace can suffice eternity. Do you not still think of the last time you held him? Does the warmth of it not enrapture you now despite of it being long gone? One moment, one breath... That would be enough. If I saw her again. Beautiful and bright in the sunlight. Clad in her golden hair with eyes as blue as summer skies. That would suffice, Tauriel. If I came to the hall of Mandos himself and he told me I would see her but once more, it would suffice. I would say, ‘Eyes take your last glance, arms claim your last embrace, and lips kiss the rose once more.’ And my soul would obey. At last, if upon the sun set only ashes would remain… Ashes upon my eyes, my arms, my lips, then all better for it. It was real, it was sweet. And its memory would remain evergreen, for even adorned with thorns, is the rose not the rose? Yes, if I were to choose like you, mine would the choice of Luthien’s, indeed. Both the bitter and the sweet.”

Tauriel stood speechless beside her king and she began wept silently. And like her father rather than her king, Thranduil stood beside her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. He said naught but spoke much in those brief moments. Yet, her mind remained lost rather than found. A storm raged inside. Questions without answers formed and doubts without hopes appeared.

“There is winter,” she finally said. “All roses die in winter.”

“It’s a pity you have never been much for flowers, Tauriel,” the Elven-King said simply. “Then, you would know roses bloom all year long.”

* * *

She walked along the riverbank, alone at sunset. The banks were colored gold and orange, and the trees peppered with shadow and sunlight. The breeze was cool and stirred her hair gently. Yet she thought little of the beauty of the evening when she was inflamed by doubts in her head. _Did I choose rightly?_ she had begun to wonder. _Or did I choose unwisely?_

Thranduil’s words were beautiful and sage. They have moved her but, nonetheless, her fears remained. Although her King could love what would turn to ashes, she was unsure she could. _I have burned with love. I burn with love_ , she mused. _It is lovely to burn, but when I’m ashes then what comes next? I shall blow in the wind, lost. Lost forever to all that I was and those who knew me._ Perhaps that would be pleasant. To blow forever in the wind and be forgotten by all. _Perhaps I could be carried onto the stars. Would they take me? Would they love something as wretched as me?_ Tauriel hoped they would. A few stars had begun to appear, and she felt tempted to pose the question. Had Glorindor come upon her, he would have remarked his phrase of old. “Oh, to be young Tauriel whom always consorts with the stars,” he had often teased in her youth with a grin or a laugh. But even he had not been able to comfort her when she had come for counsel.

Glorindor had been astounded by her actions. He was utterly surprised she had rejected Kili whom by his account was “a rather fine for a Prince of Dwarves”. He had sympathized with her reasons, however, for Glorindor, despite his cold demeanor, knew well of love. He had never confessed to her whom he loved, but she knew he had loved someone in the past for a forlorn gaze was always found in his dark eyes. And yet perhaps it was the state of his beloved Mirkwood, rather than a lost lover, that tore at his heart. Out of all the elves she had ever known, there were only three she found herself devoted to. Legolas as her brother was always present in her heart, Thranduil as her king was dear to her, and last she loved Glorindor as her most constant friend. He was wise in the way other Silvan elves were not, or perhaps any other Sindarin elves for that matter. For that reason, it was the queerest thing to hear him agree with Thranduil’s counsel.

“Your Sindarin king speaks truly,” he had said nonchalantly.

Tauriel was almost rendered speechless. They had been having supper and she had gladly partaken in eating some of the homemade Silvan bread with spices she loved so well. Despite that food had lost all its flavor and she seldom felt hunger any longer, the bread tasted of childhood and of summer. It brought her a sliver of joy every time she bit into it. And yet, she had foregone even her beloved bread when Glorindor the Proud Silvan had called Thranduil the King true.

“Do _you_ speak truly?” she asked.

“Do not jest, Tauriel,” Glorindor said coolly. “Even wolves speak truth once in a while. And in this case, your King speaks with heart, and not with ego or vanity. That I cannot condemn.”

Tauriel meditated on the words solemnly, her appetite fleeting and her doubts rushing in. “Do you think I am in the wrong, then?”

“No, I do not,” he confessed. “I think what you believe in you believe truly and without question. It is your greatest virtue and your greatest fault.”

Blood rushed to her face as Glorindor insulting made her feel hundred years old again. _And yet things were simpler back then._ “Speak clearly, Glorindor,” she said bitingly.

“You have followed your convictions with the dwarf,” he said evenly. “You have thought it best to not suffer in love. That it would also benefit Kili and his kingdom should he remain heir to the throne. You also believe a brief marriage, or affair, should not cost a kingdom to him. Or a lifetime of suffering to you. That is comprehensible and selfless. Perhaps even wise, one could say. And yes, I deem you all of those. But I also deem you a coward, Tauriel.”

“A coward?” she repeated.

“Yes,” Glorindor said nonchalantly. “A coward. You have set the trap and the animal has fallen, and now you fear killing it. Yet you need its cloak for winter, nonetheless.”

She was flabbergasted. “Kili is not a deer or a wolf!” she protested.

“No, he is not,” he said as he finished his ale. “But my words remain. You are willful but soft-hearted. Strong but reckless. Bold but overly pensive…”

“I still do not comprehend how hunting has anything to do with this,” she interrupted him annoyed. She had failed in killing a deer or two several times in Glorindor’s presence, yes. Had he not forgiven her for it? Did he still find her so soft and defenseless after all these years? _I am not a child of a hundred afraid to kill a deer anymore. Why can’t he see that?_

“How an elf does something, he does everything,” he said carefully. “The way you hunt is the way you act.”

“I am not afraid to kill a deer any longer, Glorindor,” she said sourly.

“Nor do I think you are,” he said. “You are afraid of other things now. You fear naught of taking life, you fear of living it. I cannot advise you better than your king has. I have only loved in silence and not in acts, therefore I cannot talk of love and its complexities. But I do say, _Galieth_ , you are much braver than this.”

The indignation she had harbored had vanished as soon as he called her by her name of old. A Silvan name given to her by Glorindor and his kin. A sweet name he had given her for her love of stars. She smiled gently, she smiled sadly. And he returned her forlorn smile but said naught, that was his way. Instead he pulled his pipe and lit it. “Do not be vex with me, Tauriel. Go look at your stars and perhaps they will talk kinder than I have.”

And yet as she looked at the sky, there were very few stars and speak they did not. _It is night yet,_ she mused. _That’s why they haven’t come, the sky is still violet, and Arion has not completed her journey._ The last rays of the sun hit the river softly, its dark waters contained shades of black and gold. And she continued her walk along its banks and admired its stillness. It seemed queer to her that these waters were nothing like the place they came from. The river originated from the great waterfall of the palace of Mirkwood. Its water came from a vast lake and it resulted in a rapid and ever flowing waterfall. At the mouth of the opening, the waters were rough and the current strong resulting in a fearsome river. And yet as the waters flowed downstream, it became smooth and mild in its current. At last, when it arrived where Tauriel walked, the water was ever so tranquil and the river nothing more than a serene pool. She leaned forward to touch its waters. It was cold, but much was expected at the end of summer. Yet when she was younger, she had cared naught. She had plunged into the river any time she liked. Night mattered naught, the icy water could not interrupt her delight of catching the stars reflected upon the water. She cupped the stars in her hand and drank the water from it. Its taste was sweet. Starwater, she called it. It was silly, but perhaps Kili would have found it amusing. The thought of him tasted bitter.

She drank some of the water to wash it away, yet the taste stayed in her mouth. _Was I truly wrong?_ she pondered. _Am I just a coward pretending to be wise? A true sheep in wolf’s skin?_ She had never been much of a wolf, however. The animal she liked best was the deer. Perhaps she was a deer. _A deer in the woods, ever so afraid and lost. I fear any hunter will greet me in the night and feast upon my heart._ But there was little of her heart left, anyway. It had been bruised and pierced and finally torn to pieces. _All by my own will. I am both the deer and the hunter. Both the sweet and the bitter._

Her thoughts went again to Kili and their stars. She missed him and she did not. She felt him still clinging to her skin and yet his absence hurt profoundly. She had pushed him away for good. Even if she was truly mistaken and wrong. Even if she went back and begged him to love her again, he would not. He could not, surely. Why would he? She broke his heart, and in the process, she broke her own heart. Why would he love her after that? Why would he love a coward? Why would he love a frightened little deer who talks with stars? He could easily marry a dwarven girl who was brave and smart. Yes, and she could absolutely give him children, no doubt of that. Heirs to his ancient line and throne. And they would be merry and glad for together they would look at stars. And perhaps in another three hundred years or so, when Kili had passed on to wherever Aulë took his children, she would get a glimpse of his grandchildren from afar. They would rule Erebor, most naturally, and they would be happy. And she would be ever so glad she had chosen how she had. A lovely image it would be. A bitter image it would be. _I’d rather lay in the Halls of Mandos for evermore in deep sleep if all this is to come._ _For if this is for the greater good, for both mine and his, why does it feel so terrible?_ She could not be happy with his own happiness, she realized. She had never perceived herself as a selfish being but perhaps she truly was. Was it jealousy that made the thought of this blissful future so bleak? Or was it something else? Something beyond her own will and doubts, something beyond it all. _Love_ , she mused. _I love him too well to let him go._ And that clouded things even more. She was unsure of herself, at last. Thranduil was right. Glorindor spoke truly. And she had erred.

Yet the path forward was surrounded in mist, and she could not see beyond her own fears _. If I were to go to Erebor…well, what of it?_ she asked her foolish heart. _He will most certainly refuse me, why wouldn’t he? I would refuse myself._

Her heart replied, nonetheless, _Tell him you love him. And like Thranduil said all would suffice._ She wanted to. Truly, she did. She began to walk towards the mountain, unaware, she was even moving. And yet she stopped. _What to say? Where to begin? Will he love me still?_ She sighed and grumbled and cursed herself. She knelt on the banks of the river as the sun finally disappeared and darkness descended upon the land. And yet it was not a bleak darkness but an alluring one, painting the skies in deep blues and giving shape to stars. A thousand stars begin to emerge one and by one. She looked to the river, once more, hoping to glance, or rather grasp, at one of the stars. Yet the moon was not bright enough nor was is it dark enough for such things. But her search for treasure was not in a vain for indeed a star sparkled underneath its water. She grasped the star from underneath the shallow banks, but it was no star at all. A ring, it was, made of silver and glittering white in the light of dusk. She felt pity for the lost treasure, for surely its’ owner would miss it sorely. Alas, the jewel had fallen upon the water by mistake, for who would forgo such treasure? It was clearly an engagement ring and it was pretty enough to behold. _Not a star_ , she mused. _But radiant in its own right._ It was in this keen observation of the ring that she, at last, came upon the answer to all her questions. For inside the ring was a marking, a word in a tongue foreign to hers. A word, she, nonetheless, recognized from a charm purchased from dwarves. A word that been said to her along the banks of another body of water, a thousand years ago it seemed. She read the word inside the silver ring.

 _Amrâlimê_ , it said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently rereading The Hobbit (have two chapters left) and in retrospective there are tiny changes I shall make in some future rewrites or correction. Also for some reason I have fallen behind with my writing, as in these last two chapters had taken me a longer time to write than usual. Maybe it's because we're in the finish line that the storyline gets harder to tie up? I don't know. This is just a heads up if my next three updates (JUST THREE CHAPTERS LEFT OMG) take a bit longer to publish. 
> 
> LANGUAGE NERDERY AHEAD: A quick note on the name Galieth given to Tauriel by Glorindor. So Sindarin and Silvan are inherently different languages with Thranduil and Legolas being actual Silvan variations of Sindarin names (or rather a mix of the two). We know very little about the Silvan language or what constitutes a Silvan name. Tauriel, for example, is inherently a Sindarin name. The only other canon (what we can assume is a Silvan name) is the silvan elf named Galion in The Hobbit. Therefore, I used this root (Gal) which has sindarin roots in meaning "shining" and took the feminine ending of -leth. So the creation would be something like "shining woman". Also for further Tolkien nerdery, I used the -eth ending as a homage to another woodland warrior lady, Haleth. Haleth is a woman of the race of men who also lives in the woods and is extremely badass. She instantly reminded me of Tauriel when I read The Silmarillion. And as for why I named Glorindor as such, I am a simple Glorfindel stan and who isn't it? And thus ends my Tolkien language digression. Thank you for reading this and catch you next time on a Very Lonely Boy in the Lonely Mountain. <3


	15. Meleth Nîn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Like I said, chapters have taken me longer to write and I really wanted to get this particular one right.

Heavy weighed the crown on his brow and hot was the hall in which he stood. _Just two more hours,_ Kili thought once more. _Two more hours of this…_

The hall was fuller than usual, dwarves from both the east and west crowded the room. Holding court had remained a least favorite thing of his, yet today it was much more present in his mind why. To spend most of the afternoon, well into evening, hearing petition after petition, request after request, complain after complain was excruciating. And the politics, the subtle intricacies of said politics, made the event much more exhausting than it ever should be. To worsen the situation, as the crowned prince he had to stand next to the King throughout the affair. To sour the situation, he was wearing his crown. In truth, the crown was not his but Thorin’s, thus it was large and difficult to fill. The ornate silver and gold were also rather ostentatious for his taste, but he could bear it. Heavy it was, but heavier was his heart. No metal could compare to the weight his heart bore on his chest. Pressed down to the earth he was, standing he appeared, but buried he felt. Buried with his grief and his woes. No matter what great jewels adorned him or fine silks he wore, only misery clothed him well enough, only sadness adorned him well enough.

So deep was he in his woes that nothing remained on Middle-Earth he could recall ever liking. And yet, that was not so. There was a pleasantness in being back home, a bittersweet sight Erebor was. It’s emerald shades in the darkness, it’s cool blues under the firelight, the vastness of its halls, the gold statues and carvings of his forebearers, the smell of stone and iron, a part of him had missed all of it. Another part of him longed for the verdant colors of the forest, the night blue of starlight, wooden halls and golden leaves, the smell of grass and sweetwine…. _No, the wine tasted bitter_ , he mused _. I thought it tasted sweet at first, but it was bitter at the end._ And yet he remembered the halls of Thranduil once more. The arrow wound throbbed as he remembered. _No, the arrow wound throbbed when I last spoke to her._

She had asked if he was hurt and he had laughed. How could she have asked such a stupid thing? He told her he had rather died, in truth. She had said nothing in return, what else could she have said? She had said everything. It was best she said no more, her words had broken his heart enough. A few more could have as well gutted his soul. So, he had taken his leave of her, he left her in the darkness just as she had done to him. And he had walked and walked the halls, without purpose for he had none left. Bitter tears had rolled down his face, but he had felt them not. He had felt naught but anger and contempt. How he hated her… How he loved her… And how he loathed himself for both hating and loving her. The sound of water had befallen him as he walked. The waterfalls soon loomed before him and he felt the rings in his pocket ever so heavy. _What a waste of a good crown_ , he considered briefly before tossing the jewel into the water. It was satisfying at once, but the feeling soon faded, and hopelessness reclaimed him. The other ring in his hand now felt heavy, heavier than the two of them had ever felt. He had wanted to throw it, as if destroying both rings would cleave him from his rage and soothe all his sorrows. But he did not. He could not. It was all he had left.

_A waste of a good crown,_ he thought as he felt the ring now in his pocket. He had noted he had tossed Tauriel’s ring into the falls but not his own. A fitting accident, he reckoned. _Let it remain in Mirkwood with her. Let them both remain in the depths and ever in darkness to me and my heart._

“Kili,” a grave voice said interrupting his thoughts.

He looked up to see Thorin’s penetrating gaze upon him. As it was tradition, Thorin sat high on his throne with a gold crown upon his head. It was evident, then, to Thorin, Kili, and perhaps the entire hall, that the King had asked him a question and that prince had not heard it.

“Yes?” Kili replied reluctantly.

“What do you think of what Lord Ironfoot’s offer?” Thorin asked with forced pleasantness.

“What do I think of Lord Ironfoot’s offer?” Kili repeated eyeing his cousin right before them. Dain was ever larger than life in his thick black furs and his blazing red beard. He always carried a happy yet bold disposition, something Kili quite admired in him. And yet, he could tell, there was much wisdom in the large dwarf. He was accompanied by his ever faithful war boar, a formality of dwarf presentations, along with two smaller boars. Children of his boar, Lue, they were most likely. _A gift,_ Kili deduced.

“I have always wanted a boar,” he said most truthfully.

The hall erupted in laughter much to his confusion. Even Dain laughed heartily, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. All laughed save Thorin. The King Under the Mountain only shook his head solemnly and grumbled audibly so. “He has not come to offer you a boar,” he told his nephew bitingly. “He has offered you the hand of Dal and you have accepted a boar.”

“Oh, cousin,” Dain said betwixt tears of laughter. “Blame the lad for naught. For a boar, I shall give of him and a lass if he so asks.”

Thorin sighed with exasperation but nodded, nonetheless. _I have escaped offending Dain_ , Kili realized. _I am lucky he has taken this in jest._ And Dain had so, for he continued to chortle happily as he slapped the buttocks of the baby boar. The boar squealed and ran headfirst into Kili who found the animal dainty enough.

Strangely, he found himself smiling at Dain. “And I thank you for although I am not of age to take a wife, I am of age to care for a boar. And a worthy boar this is.”

Dain gave another good chuckle and nodded at Kili. Thorin seemed pleased enough by this for he gave his nephew a strained smile. “I thank you again, Dain,” the King said graciously. “While I regret the prolonged union and the lack of boar for our feast, I thank your steadfast loyalty nonetheless.”

_Boar for the feast?_ Kili thought looking upon the poor animal. It was smaller than full grown boar, but fat enough to feed at least three dwarves. He, then, eyed the boar’s brother across him, the other was fatter in comparison, and Kili understood at once. Dain had come offering a bride and two boars for the feast. A fine course for any feast, he mused. A Durin alliance cemented at last and wild boar from the Iron Hills… why the two surely paired well lathered in butter and with a mug of strong ale. He felt sickened by the thought of such meal. He looked upon his little boar with pity. _You have been spared by chance. Now your brother dies while you shall live. Perhaps it was your brother who deserved life while you are now doomed to squander it. For that I am sorry._

The boar said nothing in response but merely produced a tiny squeal. He reckoned that it was proper one answer if there ever was one. Words were long and ceremonious. Words were false and painful. Words stung worse than arrows. _It is better you never say anything_ , he told his pet silently. It was then Bofur appeared, he tied the boar to a rope and herded him away. “You must give your bride a pretty name,” he told Kili lightly. That made him smile a bit, he supposed court was truly no place for a boar. _Neither is it place for me. My place is…_

_“Your place is here.”_ Thorin words still rung in his head. He had returned defeated from Mirkwood. The dwarves were too stupefied to ask much, but Kili had reckoned they knew. At least, Bofur did for his face had been grave and sad. Their way back was a short yet sorrowful journey, or so it had felt. His heart had weighed heavy ever since he had last spoken to her. It had weighed heavier ever since he left Mirkwood. And it had been the heaviest ever when he looked upon the Lonely Mountain. _Home, at last,_ he had thought wearily. _Where I truly belong… Whom I truly belong… A mountain. I should wed a mountain._ He felt the lone ring in his pocket and his eyes stung with tears. But not all mourned his terrible adventure, Thorin had been wholly welcoming upon seeing his nephew’s grief-stricken face. He did not say “I told you” but the words hung in the air regardless. He felt them clinging to his skin as Thorin spoke kindly to him.

“Your place is here,” he told his nephew at once. “Do not seek what you already have. Your mother and I love you well. Your friends love you well. Your people love you well.”

_I only wish one to love me well_ , he had thought but said naught. “What do you ask of me?” he said instead.

“Only that you do your duty,” his King answered. “Forget these follies and childish infatuations. I forgive you for the crown, it is only silver and easily amended. I only ask you take my crown, the one I wore as a prince in the days of King Thror and you do as I did.”

Kili had remained true to his word thus far. He had worn the heavy crown of old and smiled and bowed and spoke courteously and looked every bit a prince. He had even relented to a marriage in the far future. He cared naught whom this would be to, but he had asked Thorin to not be engaged now. His uncle had graciously agreed upon the condition he told Dain Ironfoot himself he was not of age to wed. “Seventy-eight is quite a young age for any dwarf to wed,” he had told his prince. “Say that you are too young, and he will be obliged. But reject him and offense you will cause.”

And Kili had done so albeit poorly, calling Dal a boar was rather unprincely but to his strange luck their cousin had taken it all in jest. Even Thorin, annoyed by his great blunder, had seemed satisfied by the outcome. A boar less for the feast, it was true, but only Bombur would possibly suffer it.

“Kili,” Thorin said quietly as Dain returned to join his party. “You must pay attention. Your mind wanders.”

“Forgive me, Uncle,” he only replied. He could not help it, he longed to be somewhere else. Somewhere warm where the sun shone, and the breeze was felt. Somewhere he had been in dreams…

“I know naught what you will do with a boar, in truth,” the King sighed.

“Why ride it, of course,” he answered.

Thorin shook his head. “It’ll be years before you can ride the beast. It is too small.”

“I can wait,” the prince said plainly. _I have all the time to wait_ , he thought. _And yet two hundred years are nothing, or so it seems._ Is that not what she had said? He still heard the words in his head. _It passes in a blink of an eye. One moment and then it’s gone. Will I have you so briefly? Will I hold you so briefly…_ “It will be brief,” he added.

“Aye, that be true enough,” the King agreed. He, then, turned to his hall and spoke loudly to all who would listen. “Now I will hold open court to any who wishes for audience or for claim.”

_Not open court…_ Kili thought miserably. It took forever and a day for dwarves were naturally not very succinct at stating their business or claim. It was worse if it was a dispute between dwarves or families, for diplomacy did little that axes could not fix. The hall typically erupted to near brawl and only Thorin’s kingly voice could settle the argument. And the disputes were seldom of any interest, to Kili, at least. Stolen boars or rams. Dubious trading and unpaid goods. Broken contracts of service. Words spoken poorly out of turn during a drunken affair. All petty and uninteresting to say the least.

Thorin seemed to notice the frown that fell upon his face for he turned and addressed him once more. “But it will be done differently this time. _You_ will hold open court.”

“Me?” Kili echoed.

“Yes, you,” the King answered. “Your mind wanders far and wide too often, so I’ll settle it in something that requires its attention. You will sit upon my chair and preside over all claims. I will as King have the final say, if there need be, but you as Prince will get to make initial judgements and strike upon a verdict.”

“Must I truly?” he asked wearily.

“Yes,” Thorin said a rather more roughly than he meant. “You will one day be King, and you shall do this every day of your life. The time is ripe for you to start training.”

_Every day_ , Kili echoed in his head gloomily. _I do wish Tauriel is right about two hundred years being brief._ He bitterly recalled her name and it angered him enough to sit upon the king’s chair with some spiteful pleasure. Not that she was here or that she would see. But it pleased him to believe she would see him and be somehow distraught he had done what she had asked. _Look at me, Tauriel, I am King in the Mountain, at last. I sit upon the chair and I preside over all. Are you not happy to look at me now?_ He thought all this sourly, but it was better than the pain of knowing it was exactly what she had wanted. Perhaps it would even make her happy to gaze upon him now. The wound of the arrow throbbed when he thought that his misery brought her joy and his heart sank deeper as he sunk into the seat.

Despite his wretchedness, everyone seemed pleased enough with the arrangement. Thorin looked hopeful, his fellow company threw him encouraging glances and smiles, and even his mother looked on proud. His mother had been a rather kind beacon of light in betwixt the gray seas of his despair. She had listened to his story attentively and carefully enough. And although she counseled his heart much, to his surprise, she did not take his side.

“You cannot seriously think she has the right of it?” he complained to her one night.

“I do not think she has the right of anything,” she said calmly. “I only think she meant it well and sincerely, with no malice in her heart.”

Kili grew frustrated at such statement. “She has much malice in her heart,” he told her. “I am sure of that for she has broken my heart. Is that not malicious enough?”

His mother sighed. “Malicious to you who are hurt and angry. Malicious even to herself as I do not doubt she broke her own heart as well. From what you told me of this elf-maid, I cannot hate her but pity her.”

“Pity her?” Kili exclaimed incredulously. “Pity me instead! Oh, this is just like the time Fili nearly killed me with an axe and you took his side.”

Absurdly, his mother laughed merrily at that. “Well, you’re just as petulant as ever. You were eleven and ever so eager to wield your first axe. Fili’s fault was loving you too well and allowing you to wield his! You cannot fault him for he was sixteen and happy to teach you. Little did he know you create much havoc and almost mar yourself with it.”

“It is not the same,” he protested bitterly. “Tauriel is not sixteen…”

“Six hundred, if what you told me is so,” she said slowly. “And yet for how long elves live, would not that be sixteen in their own race?”

Kili shook his head and grew cross at his mother. Fili would have taken his side… “It matters not, I don’t care about her age… It only matters how she made me feel.”

His mother put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “True. And yet when time is all you have, perhaps age is all you have. I cannot think what it is to live forever. I would suffer much to see everyone I hold so dearly perish. And yet I have! Thus, I cannot fault for wanting to evade such grief.”

His mother suddenly looked vulnerable and ever so old. His heart softened at once. “Mother…” he said.

“Yes, a heavy grief in my heart I hold,” she told his son gently. “But an ending I have, Kili. Your elf-maid does not. If any grief her heart holds, then it is with her till the end of time. A sad thing immortality seems. Therefore, I pity the girl much. Hate if you must, but I cannot.”

He recalled his mother’s words as she beheld her in the hall now. Much fuller of life she seemed, and much filled with pride she was. If he had seen any grief in her when they had spoken last, now she was all smiles for her son. And he tried to smile for her, he would always try to smile for her. He would smile for them all, in fact. For Thorin, his uncle and his king, for the company, his friends and dear companions, and for all in the court he did not know. He would smile for them all, even though he had no smiles left for himself. He then nodded and let open court began.

Just as he had foreseen, the next hour was tirelessly dull. The first was a drunken disagreement between two brothers. They had fought over a maid they both wanted to court. One had claimed he was the oldest one, so it was natural he had the right. The other claimed he had the longer beard, so it was he whom was the better match. Th older brother, being rather wicked, had cut off part of his younger brother’s beard while he slept, or so the younger claimed. _Fili and I never fought_ , Kili mused whilst listening to them both go on and on. In the end, the Prince had merely sighed and told them to let the maid pick which beard she liked best and to leave it at that. The next was a hot dispute between two herders, claiming one had stolen a boar. _Were that I could give mine own so they would stop yelling._ Instead, Kili had promised the other boar that Dain had brought to the palace as recompense for the man who lost one. _There, a man content and a life spared._ But it was unknown whether this herder meant to breed the boar for riding or for slaughter, in truth. Another a long sigh came of that thought. Next were travelers, or rather traders, from the East. They were three dwarves from the Blue Mountains, Broadbeams they were. The first by the name of Buri argued that they have been cheated by a dwarf of the Iron Hills. Silver was agreed upon their trade, but copper they had received. The Prince had answered he could not account for every trade done under the shadow of the Lonely Mountain, but he would grant half of the silver they were promised as a token of goodwill. They were not altogether very pleased, but they agreed to it, nonetheless. The next claim was of one of Dain’s own lords who complained of a breach in his service contract. His ram had been badly hurt in an orc raid and the recompense Dain had offered had not sufficed. “A brave and grizzled ram it was,” the dwarf said proudly. “Worth more than thrice of that which was given for it.”

“Grizzled you say, but old do you not mean?” Kili asked. He knew Dain to be fair and kind to his kin, so he could not imagine his cousin would try to cheat the old dwarf of some coin. He imagined Dain had paid justly for an old ram being killed. 

The old dwarf, however, went red in the face. “Old? Bah, as if the word were a crime. A good king can be an old one, such as Thror was in his days or Thorin Oakenshield now is… No, for grizzled and old are same words as wise or sage. An old ram? Aye. But, also a wise and good ram.”

“That much is true, I suppose,” the Prince concurred. “I can pay you twice of what is owed to you, but no more can I spare for an old ram.”

The dwarf grumbled but accepted the offer. “Old you say, but lived I say. Aye, I am two hundred years strong and the ram had been with me most of my life. Old, you say, and I say nay.”

_Two hundred years are nothing_ , he mused once more. _Ask Tauriel, she knows._ _It’s not long at all._

As the dwarf removed himself from the hall, Thorin nodded with approval at Kili. “Wise choice,” he told him. “I wouldn’t have given any recompense to the traders from the East, however. Trade is always a tricky thing and very rarely regulated. It’s best to stay away from those matters.”

_But drunken brawls are our jurisdiction?_ Kili thought silently. “I will take your advice in my next dispute.”

Kili, then, turned tiredly to Nain, Thorin’s fateful servant, who had been announcing petitioner after petitioner. “Who comes next?”

“A lady, Your Royal Highness,” Nain answered. “A lady who seeks audience with the king.”

“Very well,” said Kili. “I hope an audience with the prince shall suffice.” He wondered if this lady was the same maid from the brothers’ dispute. _Perhaps I can advise her to be wise and choose neither of them._

Whispers and murmurs from the crowd begin to sweep the hall, many looked upon the maid whom Kili could not see. It was when the crowds parted and the lady came forward, that Kili saw she was, indeed, not the maid from the brother’s tale, for it was no dwarven-maid and furthermore he believed no maid had ever been so fair. A maid dressed in silver she was, akin to the glimmering color of white snow. Her hair was long and auburn, a flame putting all torches to shame. Her skin porcelain and her eyes as green as pure emeralds. She walked in a graceful manner, she walked in a careful manner, she walked in starlight... He recognized her at once as one recognizes one’s heart. _A daydream_ , he thought. He was having a vivid daydream in the heat of the hall. He was possibly ill, or maybe he had succumbed to mere exhaustion. Nevertheless, the hallucinations had taken over and his mind wandered. He realized he had never seen Tauriel in a dress, and a splendid dress at that. Thus, the sight was greatly welcomed for he had never thought her beauty could be enhanced. A lovely mirage it was, and while he took pleasure in its countenance, he was horrified when, to his shock, it spoke.

“Your majesty,” the lady in silver said to Thorin first. And then: “Your Highness” at Kili, her eyes and voice softening all at once. If he had believed he had conjured Tauriel’s image on a poor noble lady, the belief was broken by the unmistakable sincerity in her eyes. Those eyes he remembered well. _Sad eyes they were_ , he mused. _And now…_

But her eyes evaded him and returned to Thorin at once, as if it were of great importance to speak only him. He thought it was silly for she was a ghost only Kili could see. Another great shock came to him when Thorin addressed her, at last. “My lady,” the King said calmly. “To whom do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Kili shivered at Thorin’s words, for said words she had seemingly heard, and thus a ghost she was no longer but the real living object of his affections. He was puzzled and befuddled. Yet the wonder and great esteem at her beauty was quickly replaced by doubt and suspicion _. If she is here…_ he began to ponder _. Why is she here?_

“Thranduil, himself,” she told the King sternly.

_Naturally_ , he thought most bitterly. Why would she come back for him? He decided to say naught and let her speak to Thorin who would be much polite than Kili could. He saw her steal a glance at him, but he looked elsewhere swiftly. He would deny her any words or gazes. No pity would come from him, it was best to consult with the King. His cold response made her speak again, or so it seemed.

“Though the errand is mine own. He sends me in good faith and peace, but the errand, that which is my purpose, concerns Thranduil not. I have come seeking an audience with King Thorin.” All this was said with much assertiveness and pride, as if she had thought to say it much in her mind.

Her impassioned words moved little in Kili who was still rather content in being vexed with her, and his anger did taste sweeter upon a high throne. Looking down on her made it easy to deny her and his heart, almost as if they were both below him. After all, _she_ had rejected him. Surely, he was justified in his contempt for her. Thorin’s view seemed to differ, however, for upon her words he moved right in front of throne, forming almost a barrier between her and Kili.

But she took no offense at this and simply spoke again, “Does your majesty grant me this audience here and now?”

Thorin nodded carefully. “Yes. Although it was my nephew who was presiding over court, due to the nature of this _particular_ situation, I may intervene. After all, it is I whom you seek, and it is I whom wish you talk to. And so, speak, lady of Thranduil’s realm. What would an elf maid ask of a dwarf king?”

Then, much to the King and Kili’s surprise, Tauriel knelt in front of the throne with much reverence and much ease. She was even graceful in such action, Kili observed. _But more graceful is she in her words_ , he thought. _More graceful is her face. More graceful are her eyes._ And in gazing at her again, he found himself admiring the braids upon her hair and the necklace upon her chest. It was the same flower of light he had glimpsed on her when they had first spoken in those dark cellars a thousand years ago. And soon the shadow of anger passed, and a great flush of adoration settled deep within him _. I love her. I still love her._

“There is only thing I can ask for there is only one thing I truly seek, Thorin, Great King Under the Mountain,” she said gallantly. “I ask the hand of your nephew in marriage.”

A great wave of murmurs and gasps swept the court, but Kili heard them not. He only heard his heart beating anew with hope, with love, and with utter joy. “Yes! A thousand times yes,” he said.

Thorin gave him a glare and hushed him gravely. “She was not speaking to you. She addressed the King Under the Mountain, did she not? Not the Prince! Do tell me elven-lady, why do you ask me when the Prince himself can consent to this preposterous request so recklessly?”

“I wanted to do it properly. To ask you for your consent,” she said truthfully. “I do not wish that such a marriage should sever him from his kin. I do not wish that he should lose your love over loving someone like me.”

Another a wave of whispers swept the hall and Kili managed to make them out this time. Many dwarves, like Gloin and Bifur, scoffed, a several others, like Bofur and Dain Ironfoot, spoke naught but pondered quietly, and a few nodded with some interest, this last was the action of his mother. Kili reasoned that while dwarves had no love for elves, they admired bravery and loyalty of any kind, thus for an elf to present themselves and their purpose so honorably and so humbly, was to be esteemed in their eyes. Kili himself felt ripe to intervene but before he could move, the King spoke once more. 

“He seemed not to care for my consent, earlier, did he not?” Thorin asked Tauriel somewhat irked. “He did ask for your hand, or so I am told, and rejected he was. If this is so, I am indeed puzzled by all this.”

Kili saw Tauriel’s face flush, her eyes racing down to the ground beneath her feet. Thorin seemed rather pleased with her response. And, Kili himself, confused, for the affection he had felt for her only moments earlier was replaced by the throbbing of the wound on his shoulder and the one in his heart. _Yes, he is right_ , he thought _. Why is she here now? What has changed?_ It was no longer anger that clung to his heart but a deep sadness. He, then, sat down once again on his throne and said naught. A passionate intervention no longer called to him, instead he sought for Tauriel to reply to Thorin’s inquiry. To explain with tender words her rejection of him, her betrayal of him, and conclude, of course, with her love of him. And yet, he was wary of her words, thinking another arrow of sorts could spring forth from them.

“So, it is true,” the King Under the Mountain continued. “You did reject him. I can attest that he was most profoundly upset at that. And yet, here you come asking him to marry you. Fickle your mind is. It is perhaps the hearts of elves that are fickle, and I do not blame you for this. But you must see how this request puzzles me so.”

“My heart is not fickle,” she said looking up to meet eyes with the King, at last. “I cannot speak of the hearts of others, for those I do not know. I do confess in rejecting your prince but only because I feared for his crown. I feared for his banishment. And I feared for his life.”

“His life?” Thorin asked a bit perplexed. “That’s absurd. I do confess in threatening the Prince with banishment. I have no secrets to hide. I’ll even confess I conspired in keeping you two apart. But all this was done in the protection of my nephew, my last nephew, my only nephew…”

“And I understand,” Tauriel said to the amazement of Kili. “I do not fault you for wanting your nephew safe. In wanting to keep your line pure. It is noble to want to protect others we love. It is hard to protect others we love… I tried to protect your nephew, as well, I wanted to protect him for all that would befall this union. I know you think poorly of it and I know it is not what you would want for him. But perhaps it is what he wants for himself. It is what he feels for himself. He compared me to you, and perhaps for that reason I do not wish to do as you have done.”

Thorin’s face darkened at this. “And what I have done that causes him to compare me with some elf?”

“You have not listened,” she answered. “And neither have I, it seems. For that I apologize to him. And only he can pardon me for that.” At those last words her gaze fell upon Kili. Love he solely found in her eyes, no traces of sadness there were. Regretful she was, but hopeful she remained. He wanted to kiss her and forgive her with kisses, but he resisted. He felt Tauriel still had much to say and he would like to listen. He also admitted Thorin’s befuddlement amused him for now the King’s face had grown ever more vexed than before.

“Well, then, may he forgive you well. And doubtless he will! I do not understand, elf-maid. You wish me to approve of this marriage, that I cannot do. Do not seek this folly any longer. I shall make peace with you both and let him still see his mother and his kin. But he may not see me as an uncle from this moment on but only as his king. As he follows you, he leaves me. Do not waste humble words in attempts to appease me. Go to him and leave and I shall say naught.”

But Tauriel did not go to Kili and she did not leave. Instead, she took a deep breath and spoke more boldly than before. “But _I_ cannot say naught. It is for the great love I bear for him that I speak. It is for the great love he bears for you that I speak. Great King Under the Mountain, I have no dowry, I have no gems or jewels I can offer save my own. But even this would be little compared to all you have… And indeed, I have little to give for all that I take. May it be true that as he follows me, he leaves you, and yet not so in heart. I myself have no kin of blood left upon this world, but those who are my kin of heart are dear to me. For that sake I cannot let him part from you in anger, both from yours to him and him to you. I do not wish the Prince to lose your love for the sake of winning mine.”

“Already lost that love is,” Thorin said slowly. “You speak bravely but to no avail. You cannot understand the heavy plight already nestled within my heart. And my nephew only adds insult to injury with this affair. Us, dwarves, are not easy to forget or forgive. Our blood is old and our feuds just as old. Our line is the little our people have left. You do not understand our burdens, or of our pains, you are merely an elf…”

“A mere elf that much is true!” she said eagerly. “I am not even a noble elf. The only light my people ever saw were that of the stars. I have never been beyond the sea. I do not know of the world away. I am a silvan elf, which means as much to the elves as a petty-dwarf would mean to you. My people are of the woods and that is perhaps all I will ever truly know well. And though I am older than you, I am less wise for I do not know how to answer, King Thorin. I do not know how to tend a wound of old. I do not know how to unburden a heart. But the little I know consists of love. Yes, love... I love your nephew and that is all I can offer to you who has everything. I place at your golden throne, at your ancient feet, my heart. A heart as heavy as yours and less noble in its origin or birth. A dull jewel, and yet a jewel, nonetheless, when there are others who treasure it so. May you never forgive or forget me but do know I placed myself at your service and gave all that I possessed. I plead you may forgive your nephew now or one day. Perhaps in a year. Perhaps on your deathbed. And if such an event comes to pass, a most great thing in my accursed eternal life shall be to see your heart soften at once and all your woes relinquished with it. Indeed, I shall be glad and merry if this day in your life comes. For if we part now in disdain and mistrust, it is only because you part from me in disdain and mistrust. I wish you happiness now that I have finally met you. And I forgive and forget for all deeds that have passed and are yet to come.”

A great quiet befell the hall for mute were the dwarves with the words of Tauriel. And silent was Thorin. All was still except Kili who stood from the king’s chair and stepped down to meet with the lady herself. He came to her as she remained knelt before the throne, and she bowed her head timidly when he came forth. There were many things he wanted to say, but only one thing he wanted to hear.

“Say it again,” he asked of her.

She looked up to meet his eyes, and he saw a puzzlement had befallen her face. No longer was there any sadness in her eyes, he observed, for her eyes gleamed fiercely at him. If she had once been afraid, she no longer was. He knew at once she would repeat the entire speech on command and without grudge. And he knew she would say all that need be said and all that need be amended.

“Which part?” she asked of him.

“The part when you said you love me.”

At last a tenderness befell her and her last sorrows melted like snow in spring. “I love you,” she told him.

And with the same simplicity in her words, with the same openness in them, caring not whom would see, he leaned forth and kissed her. If a gasp befell the court, if murmurs swept the halls, if any word was uttered in that mere moment, he had not heard. For their kiss was sweet and everlasting and made one forget of other worlds besides that one of then and there. When they parted, he saw the great blush upon her face and the great smile upon her lips. It made him happy to enough to overlook that they were not alone and that many eyes withheld them with a mixture of curiosity and aversion. It was, then, that at last he addressed both his uncle and the court.

“My King,” he began as he turned to Thorin, whose expression was absolutely undiscernible. “For all my life, I have done as you I have asked, and I have followed where you lead. I echo the lady sentiments. I do not wish to part from you in mistrust. I do not wish to part without your love. But alas, I will do so if you truly see my acts as unforgiveable. Yet, I do not apologize for having loved…”

Kili removed the crown from his head and he felt the weight of his body lessen at once. The gold and silver crown felt less heavy in his hands, and he began to admire the object for what it was. He smiled sadly at it, a tiny eulogy for what would have Fili’s crown. A crown which he would have filled well, a crown with which he would have ruled long and prosperously for many years. A good king Thorin’s nephew would have been, but Kili was not his brother. And thus, he addressed Dain Ironfoot who was in the corner of the hall, holding an inquisitive look upon his face. 

“Cousin Dain,” he began very honorably. “I pray the line of Durin will remain strong with you and your children. And I shall say the title would suit you better in the end. You have a longer beard than I do and thus I believe Mahal favors you more.

Dain laughed merrily at that. “Aye, lad. But a shabby prince you were not. You may keep the boar. As a wedding gift, if you will.”

Kili nodded in response and then turned to face his mother. She had watched it all and her eyes were glossy with tears. But they were not unhappy tears, it seemed, for a good-natured smile befell her face. “I am sorry,” he told her.

She shook her head. “You have broken no promises with me.”

Kili had to smile at her for that, but he also knew what her mother meant. And thus, he turned to face his King once more. “My mother is right,” he told his uncle. “I have only broken my faith with you. For that I apologize. And…”

He walked to his uncle, with the gold and silver gift in his hands. He was prepared to return the gift given to him a very long time ago, perhaps even before he was born. His uncle’s face was full of woe but, to his great shock, no anger there was. Kili took it as a sign and continued, “I part with this at the last moment, but I withhold all my love for you. I shall not return the great esteem and affection I hold for you.”

His King nodded gravely as he took the crown from Kili. An achingly sad smile befell him, and it was terrible and sweet to behold. “And I take the crown from you in sadness but also in gladness. For it gladdens me so to see it return in full, although I am fond of the letter opener as well.”

And though his heart hurt, Kili managed to grin at the remark. “I am sorry I was not more like you. I tried to be like you, like Fili… but I am not. Nor shall I ever be.”

“I know,” his uncle said weakly. “I have known but I tried in vain, nonetheless. Forgive me for that. You are like your mother and now I know why I love her so. Bolder and braver than me you both are. More reckless as well. But for that I love her, for that I love you. I confess I would rather part with any gold in this mountain than you. Aye, if the elf-maid had asked for all the gold in Erebor, I would have given it to her gladly for as long as she would not make me part from you. For I know how to part with jewels and crowns, but with you I confess I do not know how.”

His uncle’s voice was strained, and he knew had they been in private some tears would have been shed. But he was King Under the Mountain and only tears should come of deep loss and battle, no tears should be used for happy tidings or sudden gladness of the heart. So Kili cried for him and Thorin chastised him not for he was no longer a prince so there was no need for such formalities. The King only leaned forth and pressed his forehead to his nephew, just as they had done before the wreckage of the Battle of the Five Armies a hundred years ago. And although only a year had passed since then, it seemed much time would pass again before they reunited once more.

“Do not stray too far from the mountain,” he told his nephew. “Come back to it now and then. I shall be glad to look upon your face. I do not part in anger with you, only in grief. Do not forget I remain for evermore your uncle and your king.”

Kili only nodded for words had left him, and all that needed to be said Thorin had said. To his surprise, his uncle now turned to Tauriel who remained ever still before the throne. “And to you, I return the heart you have placed before me. Keep it safe, give it to whom you will… or to whom you have given it to, as it seems. I part in friendship with you, elf-maid—”

“Tauriel,” Kili corrected him.

“Tauriel,” Thorin continued. “May your forest be evergreen and your life be long and plentiful. Keep my nephew safe for a knack for trouble he has. And reckless as ever, I have no doubt, he shall remain. For you take not only what would have been my prince, but the last good pieces of my heart as well.”

This he said nobly and without spite, Kili noted. He did not know whether his heart had softened to Tauriel’s words or Kili’s return of the crown or rather both. He only knew that indeed something had burst from within the hardened heart of the King and that it had run loose and free. A glimmer of hope he saw in Thorin’s eyes and newfound gentleness in his demeanor as well. At that moment, Kili thanked Mahal and whatever other power had moved his uncle so. He, then, turned to gaze at Tauriel once more. She seemed as astounded and overjoyed as he was. He finally went to her and took her by the hand.

She smiled tenderly at him and spoke, “Do you truly not mind no longer being prince?”

“Nah,” he said nonchalantly. “The crown is too heavy. I would live with massive headaches if I ever truly took to being one.” He then added more thoughtfully, “What about you? Do you not mind it being no longer than two hundred years?”

He was afraid for a minute, for a second even, that she would run away once more, that somehow she would remember the curse of her long life and decide to part at once and once more. But she did not. Studying her face, he only saw happy tears form and a soft smile take shape. “A rose with thorns is still a rose,” she said though he did not understand. “And two hundred years… I believe I have time to spare.”

Kili smiled, in relief, and tightened the grip upon her hand. “Good, for I have two hundred years to squander.”

* * *

There was much feasting that night. Despite the quite scandalous news that Prince Kili was no longer Prince Kili and that Dain Ironfoot was now next in line for the throne, the evening was rather pleasant. Or so had Kili thought for to spend any time with Tauriel brought him much pleasure.

He had spent most of the night introducing her to all sorts of different dwarves. The original company was array of different reactions, some like Ori seemed rather excited to finally meet her, Bofur and Oin were particularly glad to greet her once more, and a few like Gloin did not want much of anything to do with her. Kili had not taken much offense as he knew his turn would come, for one day it would be elves that would scorn his union with Tauriel, not just dwarves. But this he did not think much of, for many other happy things were in his mind. Kili instead continued the introductions starting with the queer Mab and ending, at last, with his mother. Tauriel had been rather nervous as first, not being sure what to say and trying to tread lightly on subject matters. Her demeanor did not disagree entirely with Dis, however, for his mother had always been a talkative and friendly woman. She, indeed, pulled Tauriel out of shell by asking unexpected and quite singular questions. His mother was particularly interested in what does one do with living so long.

“I am hundred and eighty-two and I am exhausted!” she exclaimed. “I cannot imagine having lived thrice that amount and not being tired or plain bored.”

“I suppose I don’t feel age like dwarves do,” Tauriel explained. “Elves are rather different in that aspect.”

“True enough, and yet life is quite arduous, is it not?” Dis observed pensively. “Since I was a little girl, I always imagined being a bird. A raven at that. Yes! They do live just as long or longer than us. If I was a raven, my body would be light therefore I would be less tired. If I carried sorrow, it would matter not for my bones would weigh less than a stone. And the best part would be that I could fly to wherever my heart desired. I suppose, as a raven, as long as one had some wind and good, strong feathers life would be well even in the oldest age.”

“Perhaps this is true,” Tauriel agreed. “I have seen the ravens of Ravenhill, those who bring messages to dwarves. They seem prideful in their work and happy with their lives. It must be the wind and the feathers that brings them ease in their long dwelling, indeed. I suppose I would, too, like to fly but I would miss the forest rather much if I was a raven...”

Kili recalled the story of the raven and the Broadbeam dwarves for they had run into them in their many meetings. It had been a rather odd situation for Kili when Tauriel had approached some strange dwarves and spoke of knowing them. Odder indeed it was, when they in fact did know her and greeted her warmly and almost like a lost friend. The dwarves recognized Kili as the prince, or former prince as he now was, and spoke kindly of Tauriel. Then, they together relayed the story of their adventure through the Grey Mountains. In his favorite part of the tale, a raven with a message was involved. He wished he remembered the raven’s name, now, for he had the desire to reward such fine bird with a princely gift. He was no longer a prince, in truth, and yet he still had gold and treasure to give. He would give the raven a most shiny thing as a recompense for bringing news of him to Tauriel. _A fine bird with keen eyes_ , he mused. _Keen eyes and some good luck. Strange indeed that such a bird would reach Tauriel and tell her of me. And stranger that we are now here together of all things._

He had tuned out of the conversation but returned to it as his love spoke. “…A deer I would be. To run free would be most wonderful but many do prey on such gentle creatures.”

“Oh, do tell me of your woods,” his mother asked. “For I have seen small woods here and there and beyond the Misty Mountains, but never one such of the likes of Mirkwood. Thorin tells me it is cursed and wretched land, but if such a fair lady as you dwells there, I do not think so.”

“It’s not precisely wretched, but there are giant spiders,” Kili said bemused.

“Indeed, it’s not!” Tauriel said gladly. “There are many fowl things, as Kili said, but much beauty remains as well. Great white stags can be seen now and then. Beautiful rivers filled with stars in the night. The bread we make is warm and peppered with herbs of the forest. Our King is fair, even fairer than I for he once beheld the great splendor of the kingdom of Doriath, and our people are as wild and as merry as can be.”

“It sounds quite nice,” Dis said with whimsy, for his mother quite liked tales of adventure and places she had not seen. A taste in these types of stories had Fili and him gotten from her. “I must see this place someday,” his mother concluded.

“I shall take you if you would like,” Tauriel said with a smile. “I know Thranduil would be happy to see me again… much wiser than I left, at that. If your heart so desired, I would be honored to show you what was once the Greenwood of old.”

“Oh yes,” said Dis turning to her son. “Would you permit it, Kili?”

“You can go there if you like,” he replied in jest. “I had my share of burdens in that forest, already. Go with the spiders and treat with Thranduil, the Very Fair Elven-King.”

“But I thought you liked Thranduil well enough now,” Tauriel said confused.

“Oh, I do,” he confessed. “But those spiders are never to be liked! But… if Tauriel goes then so must I.”

“I do not wish you to go through such peril to appease me,” Tauriel said gently.

“Oh, he’s trying to chivalrous,” his mother said slyly. “Did you know he is most terrified of spiders and all other things that crawl?”

His face flushed at her words. “I did… Do not! It was once and I was very young…”

“Truly?” Tauriel asked amused.

“Oh, I shall tell you the story,” Dis began.

“Please do not,” he said but little did he meant it. It felt nice to see his mother smile even if it was his expense. And it felt pleasant, as well, to see Tauriel smile.

Though she had already bestowed her smile upon him many times tonight, it brought him a deep sense of reassurance and satisfaction. There was much joy abode her now, he observed. In fact, much joy he had not seen even in the forest when they lay between the trees. Her eyes were no longer the sad pools of sorrow they had once been, for now there was even a gleam in them that he quite liked. He knew that the shadow that had loomed in her heart had passed and that now the sun shone upon her. There was still much to be discussed and much to know, and yet he had heart to wait until the night winded down. There was still much merriment and feasting to be done. And although, he had no heart to eat boar (as Dain had supplied another boar out of somewhere) he would much care for an ale and some lamb.

Thus, when the time for supper came, it was all a very fine affair for the gladness in his heart had brought his appetite back. He reckoned that to merely sit beside one’s friends and the one he loved most was enough to make any dwarf content with all he beheld. And glad, indeed, he was to behold such a splendid feast. He had bread and soup and lamb and some thick cheese. Even the ale tasted better now that he was no longer a prince. In truth, everything tasted splendidly when he could dine beside Tauriel. She spoke little as she felt shy and out of place as a guest. She was naturally the tallest one in the table which he supposed would make anyone feel uncomfortable. He remembered how rather small Bilbo’s house in Bag End had felt. It would definitely make anyone feel out of sorts, but Tauriel still took to it well enough. She ate heartily, but she did remark she found the number of courses a bit daunting. He replied by noting to her it was thrice the amount in a formal feast, and this was a tiny feast, of course. Kili also took a special care during the supper to glance, now and then, at his uncle whom sat at the end of table as was the king’s custom. By his side was Dain, who now took Kili’s place in the sitting arrangement. The prince’s chair suited Dain better, he observed, for most of the ale and the great boar was placed near them. Dain Ironfoot, always light with his smiles and wise with his counsel, laughed much and drank with his cousin. Even Thorin, remarkably so, seemed happy and less grim than he had been. Kili smiled at that, for he was glad his relationship with his uncle was to remain as it had been, or perhaps even better than it had been.

“You shall miss him very much,” Tauriel observed.

“Aye, I will,” Kili said with strange, new sadness. “But my place is no longer here. Not for a while, I think.”

“Where shall it be, then?” she asked curiously.

“Well, that remains to be seen,” he said as he took her by the hand. 

* * *

Once supper had come and gone and the moon hung high upon the sky, the dwarves took to harp and flute for song and dance. It was mostly song for to everyone’s wonderment Thorin took to playing his silver harp of old. Its music was sad and sweet for many who sat and listened, for it spoke of endings and beginning. But so moving it was, that even Kili joined him with his harp in a song or two as he had often done with Fili in his youth. But after many wistful songs, Nori and Dori took to their flutes and Bofur delighted all with a happy tune. It was one of the bawdy songs Dwalin liked so much and thus he took to singing, for he was well in his cups, and pulling his brother and even Dis for a dance. Both Balin and Dis gladly agreed for a merrier dancing partner one could not find. And even, Bombur, who often feasted more than danced at feasts, took to music and joined Bofur in songs of old. The gathering had been so pleasant to Kili, for it reminded him of his childhood in the Blue Mountains, that he almost forgot he had longed to speak privately with Tauriel. But she seemed to be just as entranced by the joyful celebrations. She loved deeply to sit and just listen to songs of the dwarves, songs, as she told Kili, no other elf had possibly heard before.

“It is beautiful,” she told him, positively ecstatic. “I have never been much for jewels, but these songs… your songs, they make yearn for beautiful things crafted of silver and gold and stars hung on necklaces and crowns of molten fire. I wish to make lovely things and bring forth the stars from the ground. Is this what all dwarves feel like? Is that what all dwarves long for?”

Kili laughed at her giddiness. “I suppose when you put it that way it is so. To bring stars from the ground, yes that is part of it, I believe.”

“It is a most lovely and precious thing!” she exclaimed. “I still love the stars up in the skies, but perhaps much light and beauty are found here in the earth. Here deep under the mountain, as it were. Indeed, I have realized there is much beauty in this world I have not seen.”

Her newfound love for jewels and dwarven craft took him by surprise. And thus, he regretted much more having thrown the ring he had fashioned for her into the water. Now, the silver ring laid somewhere in a river in Mirkwood and he had nothing to give her except the ring made for himself. Indeed, it was poor luck that he had known she would be coming as he had not made her anything of unique beauty or glamor. In proper dwarven courtship, one would exchange precious gifts, typically jewels or other ornate gifts. Now, he had neither a crown nor a ring to give. He supposed he could go to his own personal vault of treasure and seek some gem of the stature of Tauriel to give. But he also guessed no such gem or jewel existed yet.

He returned his thoughts to Tauriel who sat next to him humming some tune poor Ori was now singing. He was a fine flute player, but a poor singer he was. Yet Kili gave him credit for trying to sing. Kili’s own singing, in truth, was awful, thus he thought highly of any dwarf who would venture to try and carry a tune. “Ori’s not the best singer. But he does try. He is a most excellent flute player…”

“And you’re a most excellent harp player!” Tauriel exclaimed with delight. “I did not know you could play the harp, and so well at that. You played most beautifully with Thorin.”

Kili blushed at her compliment. “I am not that good. Fili was always better and Thorin better than both of us put together.”

“Still, it was wonderful,” she told him most sincerely. “I find it a very beautiful thing.”

She, then, returned her gaze to the song at hand. It was now Dis who delighted the hall with a tender song. And Dori and Nori and Ori, of course, all played their flutes along. Even Thorin returned to his harp to accompany his sister in song. His mother had always had a pretty voice, he recalled. But it had been seldom that she sang for she only sang when she was truly happy. And indeed, a rare and more merry vision he could not withhold. The hearth glowed with fire, the air was filled with many wonderful scents and warmth, and Thorin and his mother harmonized to a note or two. And his heart found much peace in that, and even love was found when he saw Tauriel’s own head swaying with the music. He had heard tales of elves loving art, beauty, and song more than anything else in the world. More than even gold or jewels, as Tauriel had concurred. But he never realized how true the tales were. Tauriel seemed mesmerized by music and enchanted by song. Her eyes were dreamy with the melody of ages come and gone. Her heart stirred with the forgotten sorrows and lost happiness imbued in song. She was both sad and glad at the music, as she was both bewitched and besotted. He had not seen her be moved by anything that was not of the stars, and thus he found it to be akin of discovering a magnificent gem among buried treasure. A treasure that was already dear to him and perhaps filled with much more he knew there to be.

“You are very fond of music,” he told her gently.

“How could I not be?” she answered. “It is very easy to be fond of things that are beautiful. Beautiful things are easy to love.”

“Indeed, they are!” he said. “I, now, know you like music well enough, but perhaps you would like to see stars?”

“Stars,” she echoed. “Yes, stars would make me glad. And to go with you… that would also make me glad.”

He then took her where he had intended to take her earlier in the evening, before the music had taken ahold of them. A nice solitary balcony that overlooked the lands beyond the Lonely Mountain. It was a view he liked very much for it was often filled with stars and it showed the moon’s best side. It was a fine walk to the balcony and Kili asked everything he still felt unclear about. Why she had briefly left him, what had driven back, what she feared…

“I am still rather afraid,” she confessed as they strolled in the night. “And yet I am trying to brave.”

“I believe you can, and you are,” he told her. “I believe that’s the only time one can be brave, that is when one’s afraid. At least, battle has taught me that much.”

“You speak wisely and yet it does not make it any less difficult,” she sighed. “I wish I were not immortal. I wish I could die just like you.”

_I wish I could die with you_ , she had meant and it was not lost on him. “I do not wish you to die with me,” he said rather sternly. “I’d rather you live. I’d rather you live well beyond me. But perhaps that’s selfish of me… For the other way around would be painful as well, to see you die would hurt me much. And to endure for so long and watch all wither away… I do not fault you for being afraid, Tauriel. It hurts to think of it all.”

“Yes,” she concurred. “It does hurt, but when does a rose not prick?”

“What is it with you and roses again?” he asked suddenly recalling her words in Thorin’s great hall.

“Oh, roses have thorns,” she mused. “They have thorns and they hurt much, but they are not less beautiful, they are no less precious to behold.”

“Oh, am I rose?” he said bemused.

“Well no… Not truly,” she confessed. “But roses die in winter. Much like in life, winter brings about all our great griefs and heavy sorrows, and so long do we tarry that we often forget spring, or that it exists. We often forget the sun will shine once more and the rose will bloom again.”

“Then, I could very well be a rose,” he concluded. “I did die in winter and I was reborn in spring, if you recall.”

Despite her distaste for jokes surrounding his death, Tauriel smiled at that. “That much is true. Perhaps you are a rose.”

“Well that depends… do you like roses much?” he asked.

Tauriel laughed. “I might have to start taking a liking to them…”

And just then they arrived at the great open balcony he had sought so earnestly. The cool scent of night filled the air with sweetness. The moon flowered above them and the many great stars hung upon the sky. It was a radiant night, one of those lovely last nights of summer where much hope was still felt. And Kili, indeed, felt kindled by the stars and thought not much for death or the future to come. He merely sat beside Tauriel and they both admired the stars that adorned Elbereth’s hair. A theory he thought young Tauriel had been in the right about. They were certainly in her hair for many beings already held stars in their eyes. And he didn’t think an entity of stars would be redundant in her magic or her gifts. Tauriel’s eyes were especially gifted with stars, he mused. In much silent adoration they dwelled beneath the starry summer night, until she spoke at last. “Jewels are fine, but nothing ever compares to the stars. I sit here, and I now remember.”

_Jewels_ , he also remembered. _The ring!_ The night was glimmering, and the moment had come. He still regretted tossing the silver ring into the river, but little did it matter now. “Tauriel…” he began.

“Yes?”

“You did ask for my hand in marriage and all. But I never got to formally ask you for yours…”

“Oh,” she said excitedly. “Will you ask now?”

“I am asking now,” he said oddly nervous. “If you would take me.”

“I most certainly would!” she answered.

“Oh, great,” he replied awkwardly. “We would now exchange rings… except I am short a ring.”

“You are a short a ring?” she repeated.

“Yes, well I read it was elven custom to exchange rings…”

“It is,” she said sweetly.

“Well, I had two fine silver rings and now I only have one. So, I guess I’ll give you mine and I’ll fashion one for myself later on.”

“You had two silver rings?” she asked curiously.

“Yes,” he answered. “I had two until I disposed of one in an act of reckless, if you believe. Anger, at that. I threw it into the water. At Mirkwood…”

She then laughed and he felt ever so cross at her response. “Why do you laugh? You can hardly fault me for being angry with you…”

“No, I laugh because it is all so very strange to me,” she admitted.

“Strange that I threw a ring into the river because you upset me?”

“No, strange because I found it.”

She unclasped her necklace and, miraculously, through the chain and right next to the flower pendant, was a silver ring. And as she held the ring for him, it was just as he had last seen it. White silver as the moon and the words of ‘my love’ in khuzdul.

“I’m surprised you did not notice,” she told him as he held the ring speechless, “for I have been wearing it the whole evening.”

“How?” he managed to say. “How is this even possible?”

“I found it in the river, in Mirkwood like you said. In truth, I did not know it was yours. And yet… Yes, I knew. I read the word. _Amrâlimê_ , as you said it once. It drew me back to you. I had already set my heart in returning to you, but the finding of the ring only pushed me further on. I had a hope, a supposition that it might have been for me… And now I know it was.”

“By Mahal!” Kili said still bewildered.

“And all the Valar at that,” she added.

“It is for you,” he answered almost recovering from the shock. “It’s always been for you.”

And without saying another word, he slipped the ring into her finger. The silver shining splendidly in the light of moon and the stars. And Tauriel’s eyes competing with the jewel with a sparkle of her own. “It is most beautiful,” she said happily. “And your one ring short?”

He pulled the other ring from his pocket and handed it to her. Tauriel admired it briefly before slipping the ring gently onto his finger. “There,” she said merrily. “It is done.”

“Well, only in your elvish ways,” Kili confessed. “A proper dwarvish courtship is entirely another thing.”

“Oh, of course!” she said rather embarrassed she had forgotten the difference between their two cultures. “How would one go around it in dwarvish terms?”

“Well, it’s rather complex,” he mused. “First, you have the braiding, then you have the exchanging of gifts…”

“Braiding!” interjected Tauriel. “That’s simple enough! Now turn around and let me braid your hair.”

Kili flustered immediately at her words. “It’s not that simple! The braid usually has to be done with a special charm or token. You can’t just go off braiding someone’s hair so plainly and much less here in open air…”

“A charm or token?” she repeated thoughtfully.

“Yes, like one with a special meaning or a rune of sorts…”

“Oh, yes,” she said as she fiddled with the side pocket of her dress. To Kili’s second wonderment, she produced a dwarvish charm. A proper one at that with the word _Amrâlimê_ engraved in runes, lofty beads, and fine blue thread. “Would this do?”

“How?!” he exclaimed. “How do you produce at these things? Are the tales true and elvish magic real?”

Tauriel chuckled. “Unfortunately, I am no elf of magic, nor do we call that. But I did come across a couple of dwarves journeying from the Blue Mountains who wanted to sell their craft.”

“Your friends! These are beads from the Blue Mountains, then?” he said rather excitedly. “And the thread, too, I can tell! It is most strange. It is all most strange and of incredible chance.”

“A great chance, indeed. Or call it faith for it is much so,” she agreed. “I do recall them telling me dwarves often wore these for protection in their beards or hair.”

“That is true,” Kili said. “For protection and for courtship, they work equally well. Usually one braids them with the thread onto another dwarf’s beard… As you can see my beard is too short for that.” He often wished his beard was longer, and now was no exception. He always pictured his first courtship braid would be done with a long, strong beard. But he was now seventy-eight and his beard only managed to warm his face in winter and not much else. All hope of a braid done onto a beard with means of courtship vanished at once. And though disappointed, he did not suffer much for it.

“But your hair is not,” Tauriel pointed out. “Come, turn around and let me braid into your hair. Or perhaps I should braid just to the side? In truth, I don’t know how it is done.”

“It could be done either way…” he said nervously.

“Very well, then,” she said. “I shall do it on the left side of your hair so you can watch and tell me if I err.” She then proceeded to pull a strand of his dark hair and he blushed furiously as she entwined the charm onto the lock. Her eyes were fixated on his hair and he was glad, for once, to have Tauriel’s eyes not directed at him. “I am not hurting you, am I?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly.

She smiled. “Good. I admit I’ve never been much good at braiding but I’m decent enough. Anyhow, you shall be the judge of that.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he croaked. She looked at him gently and he felt the need to look elsewhere. It was all too embarrassing somehow.

“I like your hair,” she told him. “It’s not like mine. Mine is too fine and brittle. And it’s red! Red, of all things.”

“I like your hair,” he said awkwardly.

“Not like yours,” she continued. “Your hair is thick, and it has a nice brown color. It matches your eyes…”

“Brown hair and brown eyes are too plain,” he admitted unexpectedly. He thought of Fili with his father’s blonde hair and his mother’s bright blue eyes. He thought of Thorin and his mother, their blue-black hair and deep blue eyes to match. He thought of his father’s eyes, his had been the same plain brown eyes as Kili’s, but somehow his had stood out underneath the gold of his hair. Kili’s own looks had been a strange, and unfortunate, mixture. His mother’s black hair and turned brown by his father’s golden locks, and his eyes, as much of his father’s eyes they were as his mother would tell him, were so uneventful in his own face. He had never thought himself as ugly, but he did see himself as rather plain in contrast to his more handsome family. The lack of beard only added to his woes.

“It is not,” Tauriel protested. “It is lovely. I like them both very much so you mustn’t speak ill of them.”

Kili had to grin at that. “Alright, I will not sully my brown hair or eyes. Only because you like them so well.”

“And I thank you for that…” she said. “I believe I am done.”

Kili felt the braid she had just done. He felt the intricateness of the braiding and fineness of charm on his hair. Once again, his face reddened at the fact Tauriel had just braided his hair. He felt loopy and dreamy all at once.

“Well, I suppose you’ll only get to rightfully complain once you pass by a mirror…” she observed.

“No,” he interjected. “I like it. I do not need to see it to know it. I just know by heart…”

They both gazed at each other and he suddenly felt emboldened again. “I suppose it is now my turn,” he began. “Your hair is much longer, and you are much taller, so it will rather more difficult for me.”

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Do you have a charm?”

“Hm, I might after all.” He ran his fingers through his hair to feel for the barrette that held his half ponytail. It was silver and engraved with dwarvish runes, it was rather a princely pin, and precisely for that reason he knew it would do. “Here,” he said extending the silver hairpin to her. “It is family heirloom and quite precious, so it shall suffice for you.”

She gazed at it amazed and confused. “Surely, you don’t mean to give me such a token. It is much too rare and precious.”

“That is exactly why it is perfect for you,” he explained, “for you are all those things.”

Tauriel smiled tenderly at him. “I thank your kindness and your words, though I fear you overlook your own prized treasures.”

“Well, if you believe such a thing, I won’t tell you where the silver for the two rings came from,” he said coyly.

“Oh? Is there a great secret to where the silver came from?” Tauriel asked while closely examining her ring. “Surely silver is easy to come by in the Lonely Mountain.”

“True enough,” he surmised. “But silver fit for a crown is not.”

“Kili…” she said slowly. “You don’t mean that this silver…”

“You wear my old crown on your finger, yes.”

Tauriel’s eyes widened, but whether in horror or awe he could not say. “You melted your crown for rings?”

“Fear not, it was not a relic of our family, but rather a new piece fashioned for me by Thorin’s himself,” he explained. “He was rather upset at that, in truth…”

“As he should be!” Tauriel said looking at the ring and managing a small grin. “Though I blame you not for it, it is quite a lovely ring. And it is your crown to do as you will.”

“Was my crown,” he corrected. “Now, I shall give you another piece of silver that used to be mine… That is if you will allow it.”

She nodded gladly and brought forth a long lock of her marvelous red hair. Kili touched it and remembered at once the softness he had felt that afternoon underneath the tree. He began his work and he did not have to ask for she leaned forward. It was perhaps not a very comfortable position for Tauriel, yet she did not complain much. She was too concerned with gazing at him and making him nervous at that. It made his task much more complicated, and lengthy to finish, but it remained a pleasant time. When he was done, he thought he did rather well for someone who was quite bad at braiding. “It’ll do,” he said as he was finished. “Well, we should really have a mirror, shouldn’t we?”

“I think you did good,” she said happily. “Besides, we can be each other’s mirrors, can we not? I think yours looks fine and you think mine looks well.”

“I suppose so,” he admitted. “And if they’re both truly awful, we’ll have time enough to fix them down the road…”

He stopped thinking suddenly about both time and marriage. Their time together would be of great length to Kili, but ever so brief to Tauriel. Thus, as much excitement as the word marriage brought, the thought of her immortality still made him a bit sad. Tauriel seemed to notice for she took his hand and squeezed it. “Yes, we will have time enough for that. Many days and months and years. Now… you did say there was another part in the dwarven ritual.”

“Yes, well yes,” Kili said rubbing her hand with his thumb. “It’s an exchanging of gifts. These are typically jewels, or some other ornament. They are fashioned by a dwarf to another, depending on your wealth anything from precious gems to fine gold or white silver goes… I will make you something wonderful, I promise. I do not know what yet, but it will be wonderful for certain.”

“You will make me something?” she repeated with a smile. “The ring was already so beautiful enough. In truth, I do not what to ask…. In truth, I do not know what to give…”

Tauriel suddenly moved her hands to her neck and unclasped the pendant she wore. Then, without saying another word and before he could protest, she placed the necklace on Kili. He looked down upon the radiant gem, a flower of light adorned by silver thorns. “Tauriel, you don’t have to give me this…” he began.

“I cannot make anything with my bare hands, such as is the dwarven custom, but I do have this to give,” Tauriel gently explained. “‘On silver necklaces they strung the flowering stars,’ as your songs say. Thus, I give you my own flowering star, surely it is worthy of any dwarf, prince or not.”

Kili admired the pendant, he traced the shape of the flower with his fingers. And he smiled at such a fine yet perhaps hasty gift. “Truly, but is it not too worthy or too dear to you?”

“Nonsense,” she said. “It is mine and thus it is mine to give. Just as your crown was yours to give.”

He had to nod at that. “Very well, but what of my gift? What would you ask of me? Another necklace perhaps? I can make you ten new necklaces, each fairer than the next! A pendant perhaps or a choker full of gems? Sapphires or rubies? Emeralds to match your eyes! Truly, speak and tell me: what would you like?”

She briefly considered. “All of that sounds beautiful and very grand, but I’m not too familiar with gems. Anything you give me I shall like because you gave it to me. Anything you make I shall like because it came from your hands. Anything you choose I shall like because you find much liking in it. Make whatever you wish, and I receive it openly and with much heart!”

“You’re too easy to please, which makes it all much more difficult to please,” he mused. “If only I could truly string the stars on a necklace for you. I know you would truly cherish such a jewel.”

She looked up at the stars and agreed simply enough. “Yes, I would cherish such a jewel. But I suppose it serves naught to ask for the stars, when there is so much on earth that is fair.”

“Which is?” he asked slyly enough.

She smiled at him. “Certainly, you are fair, certainly your gifts are fair, certainly all is fair. Even time may yet be fair.”

She pulled him towards her, and they embraced at once and they kissed at once. He admired the stars in her eyes and the fire in her hair. She traced the shape of his features and her lips quivered as if there was something she wanted to say. “ _Meleth nîn_ ,” she whispered as she leaned forward and nuzzled his neck.

“I do not know what that means,” he confessed.

She leaned back and smiled cleverly at him. “I think you do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived happily ever after...  
> (for two hundred years or so)
> 
> two more chapters left! I hope to tie this up bittersweetly and neatly for WE'VE COME SO FAR!


	16. Interlude - The King's Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Like I said it's taking me longer to write these. And this is a sad one.

* * *

A SPRING WEDDING

The wine did little to soothe his irritation over the rain. In truth, it had rained only in the morning and briefly, yet the grass remained as moist as ever. He squished when he walked, and mud clung to his fine shoes. No one seemed to notice or care, however. But Thranduil did and it was enough to sour his mood for a while.

Nevertheless, the Elven-King swirled his glass of red as he examined the festivities. Despite the horrid little affair with the rain, it had turned out to be a good party, indeed. The flower decorations looked splendid, the feast had been bountiful, and the night was clear with a moonlit sky, perfect for a spring wedding. Even the dwarves were behaving agreeably enough. _Dwarves, who would have thought?_ he mused. Surely, he never imagined he would be hosting a wedding for a Silvan elf, although Tauriel was a clear exception, and most importantly, he had never in his strangest dreams imagined he would be hosting a wedding for a dwarf and an elf. He knew of the world and its queer turns of fate, and yet this had all taken him by surprise.

Tauriel and her little dwarf prince had needed a place to wed, and Thranduil had counseled them amiably enough. However, once Erebor had been mentioned as a possible location, he realized how greatly vexed he would be if Thorin were to host the event itself. He could not fathom the banality of it all; an elven wedding under a great big rock with dwarves waddling around with loud music and their crude ale. And Thorin Oakenshield, as the master of ceremony, with his gaudy gold belt and his ridiculously large crown, laughing and making the Elven-King drink his beer. Tauriel, as rustic as she may be, should not be submitted to such an utter parade of vulgarity. He could not allow it. He kindly suggested the couple a spring wedding under the stars in Mirkwood. And they, daft and dreamy, agreed.

He had taken to the wedding planning quite seriously. It would be a great spring wedding, no expense to be minded, no detail to be overlooked. Food and exotic spices would come from Dale, Laketown and the East beyond, the best wine from his own private cellar, and all Silvan elves would be invited, as well as dwarves of Kili’s kin. And of course, the Dwarf-King would help with these expenses. Thorin had not been so keen at first, he was, after all, a dwarf and cautious with his gold. Thranduil spoke coolly to him and suggested that Kili should perhaps grow fond of the fair, good Elven-King who had championed his love and his wedding. That did the trick for the old dwarf king, for he loosened his coin swiftly and even suggested to play the harp at the feast. Thranduil only allowed this for he liked the sound of harp and he knew Thorin to play very well, or at least he had when he had played as a young lad at his grandfather’s banquets. _It was a simpler time then_ , he mused. The halls of Thror has welcomed him and all elves. They had feasted and danced merrily in that time, with jewels of starlight bought and exchanged. Though Thranduil remembered the event not fondly for no feast nor jewels had brought him much happiness since the passing of his wife, for once she left the land of Arda, all joy had been cleaved from him.

Lothiriel she was named, and the name had been apt, for flowers were of her domain and flowers were her hair. She had been born in Lorien, but in her travels, she had come to Mirkwood and fallen in love with the woods, the Silvan Elves, and all fair that grew there. And she had fallen in love with Thranduil, or he with her, he could not remember which happened first. His memory was hazy, all he recalled was their many walks in the meadow and their midnight strolls under trees. How beautiful she had been then, with gold on her hair and blue skies in her eyes. She loved to sing, or hum, and search for her favorite flowers that she would never find, for the Niphredil only grew in the land of Lothlorien. He often offered to bring them to her, but she would only smile and shake her head, “There is nothing beyond these woods I desire, for all I love dwells here.” She bore him a son a summer later and there she claimed to have found her new favorite flower. She loved nothing more in the world than Legolas and thus when tragedy came to pass and war came and went, her last words were of him. Yet her last gaze belonged to Thranduil alone, as well as her last breath for with a kiss she died. Many years after her death, he immortalized her visage and raiment in the entrance of Mirkwood. The stone was cold and could not replace her warmth, and yet nephredils were brought from Lothlorien and placed at its feet every summer hence.

It was thus that the Elven-King counseled Tauriel against nephredils for her wedding. He did not have to explain much to her, for she knew of Lothiriel and the flower. And yet it little mattered whether Tauriel liked the flower or not, for though skilled she was in herbs and plants, she could not tell a valley lily from a nephredil. He had often warned Legolas all archery and hunt would do Tauriel ill in time, and indeed, her disinterest in flowers proved him right. To settle matters easily, Thranduil took upon himself to choose them for her. He chose the elanor, for Tauriel’s love of stars, the lissun, for the sweet smell, and the white rose, a flower suddenly very dear to her. Once agreed on flowers, all arrangements appeared to be well until Tauriel insisted to wear her plain silver dress as a wedding gown. While Thranduil doubted not the fine and fateful gift of the Noldor queen of Lorien, he greatly questioned Tauriel’s finished dress. The snow-white silk was lovely to be sure, but the dress she had was ever so plain, without any decoration or embellishment. He, then, compromised with her and let her wear the dress only with severe alterations and repairs. In the end, the seamstresses, who did only his most splendid robes, turned the homely flock into a vision of silver and beauty. Patterns of elanor, the sun-star were added, and they were lined among clusters of stars and other embellished crystals. Tauriel had thought it a bit lavish at first, remarking she looked rather ridiculous in such a grand gown. But now, as she danced underneath the pale moonlight of spring to merry dwarven song with an elvish floral crown on her brow, he concluded she had been amiss. For beautiful was the dress, as beautiful was the maiden who wore it.

He took a sip of his wine and thought of the young elven girl he once knew and still beheld. Six hundred was still rather too young to wed, but time was of the uttermost importance. Her groom would die in the next hundred fifty years or so; time was brief and unkind. He was surprised the young couple had waited half a year to wed, but he agreed some customs were meant to be kept, at least in the dwarvish side. And, indeed, a spring wedding was favorable. The spring air suited them both fine as he now saw the young dwarven prince dancing along his bride, well into his cups, and laughing heartily at all. He was no longer a prince, in truth, but he seemed to be dressed well enough for one. A good set of dark blue robes he wore, lined with silver and many jewels, for dwarves were always apt to parade their wealth. And although Thranduil found all dwarves exceedingly ugly, he admitted tonight the nephew of Thorin looked comely and noble enough. In truth, he found a strange joy in gazing at the happy couple under the May moon.

_Their love is real_ , he mused with peculiar sadness. _Ever so real and ever so brief._ He looked up to the stars, thought of nephredils, and then he finished his wine at last.

* * *

A SUMMER MEETING

Thranduil drank his sweetwine deeply. A good red from the Second Age, and it had been a good age if he remembered correctly, for now and then his memory seemed to dwindle. Sometimes events and dates blurred all together and it was hard to tell the then from the now, such was the woes when one lives so long. Indeed, woe was great for him for he could not remember when he had last seen Tauriel and Kili. Surely it was after the War of the Great Ring. But when had it been? Had it been the June of last year? Or the June of the ten years ago? All he knew is that they would dine with him for the Midsummer Feast.

At once, his heart was greatly contented to see Tauriel. Young she remained, yet not so, for she had an air of weariness and wisdom. And yet a smile lit her face when she saw him. “My king,” she said as sweetly as she had done as a child.

He embraced her warmly and turned to see her husband who trailed closely yet nevertheless quite behind her. Age had not been as gentle with him. His stout brown beard had begun to show bits of gray and his eyes wore heavy wrinkles on them. He walked slower than the small reckless thing he had first seen when he captured Thorin and company in his woods some years ago. Yet he retained his boyish grin, or so he greeted Thranduil as such. “Oh, fair Elven-King! Your woods and you remain ever fair and green. It has been many years since I dined in your halls, hence I now long very much for some your sweetwine of old.”

Thranduil nodded with some rather nostalgic irritation. Despite his light-heartedness, there was a haughty nature in him that made the Elven-King recall Thorin. The once dwarven prince had not his uncle’s bright blue eyes or brooding looks, but he still had a quiet nobility to him. He said no more as Thranduil escorted them inside.

They soon feasted on honey duck, berries, nuts, rosemary bread, creamy cheese, sweetmilk, and the sweetwine Kili longed for. Many elves were present and merry and good was their laugther. The music was slow and yet jolly all the same. It was a peaceful summer night, as were all after the war, and its air was clear and warm. Thranduil felt lulled by the festivities and the tranquility of the evening. He turned to his guests, who sat at the place of honor and ever near him. “How is my son?” he asked them. “I have heard you have seen him on the road.”

“He is as he remains,” Tauriel said fondly. “Hopeful and ever curious of the world. He travels much so it brings me great joy when our paths cross.”

“Oh, yes he travels much…” the Elven-King observed reaching for his wine, “with that dwarf, nonetheless.”

Kili grinned at him, almost mockingly. “Gimli! He’s a good lad! Gloin’s son is a loyal friend of Legolas. The greatest of friends, I deem.”

“How sweet,” Thranduil said sipping his wine with much displeasure. “No doubt you approve and encourage their friendship much.”

“Naturally,” Kili said while also reaching for his wine. “Though Gloin was not fond of it, at first. And who can fault him? I still recall how sour Legolas was with us! And you imprisoning us and all… Well, of course, he remained cautious of the friendship. T’was before his death when he, at last, came around to it. He wanted his son to be happy. You will not do the same I reckon?”

“Naturally,” he replied icily. “I don’t intend to die.”

Kili laughed. Taking his answer for a jest, he merely shrugged and ate his duck happily. He commended Thranduil and his elves much for the food. It was then that the Elven-King began to realize that the dwarf had changed more than he appeared, for the fire in his heart had been quenched or rather tempered. He was still hardy to be sure, but never foolhardy. He still spoke boldly, but with much more thought in his words. And he was seldom quick to anger, as Kili was more keen to laugh than endure a foul mood. Such was now Thorin’s nephew, and little remained of Thorin and much of his mother he saw, whom the Elven-King had met only briefly. He then strangely smiled at the dwarf, unsure why he had ever disliked him much.

“Have you heard of Glorindor?” Tauriel asked suddenly. “How is he? I have greatly missed him.”

“He is as he remains,” he said exasperated. “Stubborn and wild as ever.”

“I shall see him again soon,” she mused. “It’s been twenty years since I supped with him on some homemade silvan bread. I would like to sit with him by the river and admire the stars once more.”

Thranduil smiled pleasantly at that. “I thought you might say something of the sort, so I took the liberty of inviting him to dine with us tonight. He and his kin.”

Tauriel’s eyes widened with glee. “Is he here now?”

“No, late as ever,” he admitted annoyingly. “On purpose, I am sure.”

Kili laughed cheerfully at that. “That I am certain as well.”

“Certainly they will arrive before sunset,” Tauriel said thoughtfully. “I would love to watch them from the great window if I may be excused. Kili, would you come too?”

The dwarf shook his head apologetically. “Oh, Tauriel, I am famished and too tired from the journey. It will poor sport to watch me complain of standing by the window. You watch for him and greet him first. I shall smoke a pipe later with him, and only after he tires of you, which will be exceedingly difficult to be sure. Then, I shall exhaust him with my presence. Hence, he will be so displeased with us that he won’t mind it being another twenty years till we meet!”

She smiled tenderly at her husband as Thranduil excused her from the hall.

“She lacks no love for her kin,” the Elven-King remarked upon watching her go. “She was like that when she was young. She often waited by the same window for Legolas and I. She remains as impatient as ever.”

“I share her feelings. I grow ever restless when I’m near Erebor. As soon as the see the mountain peak, my heart stirs with fast and young desire and I recall all that once was,” the old prince mused. “Make no mistake, I too long to see Glorindor. Though it is strange to greet elf-friends for they remain ever the same while the rest of the world changes. It never ceases to astound me how you seem just the same as the day I first dined on honey duck and drank red wine.”

“Tell me,” began the Elven-King. “Do you intend to visit the Lonely Mountain? See your kin perhaps?”

“My kin…” Kili said softly. “I would like to see Thorin, it has been many years since I’ve last seen him.”

Thranduil could not tell whether the once dwarven prince referred to Thorin Stonehelm, the son of Dain and new king of Erebor, or Thorin Oakenshield, the Great King Under the Mountain who had died sixty years ago. The latter was buried in the mountain with all his stones and gold, buried with his grandfather, father, sister, and his nephew. He thought of it was still fresh in Thranduil’s memory and it somehow tasted bitter. “Do you speak of your uncle or your cousin?” he asked.

Kili smiled sadly. “I speak of both, in truth. Much do I long to speak to Thorin for it has been years since the Great War of the Ring. I would like to see his son, as well, Little Durin, or little he was when I saw him last. And yet I also long to be near my uncle. I would like to visit him and the rest of my kin…”

A long sigh came from the old dwarf and a quietness befell them. “He was a fair king and he lived a good long life,” Thranduil observed at last. “It was queer he abdicated so early in favor of Dain, for he was yet not too old.”

“Nor too young,” Kili continued. “He was my age or so when he decided upon it. He wished nothing more than to spend his last quiet years in the Shire. He was good friends with Mr. Baggins. He was glad to spend those last years in his company. I can hardly fault him for age begins to wear heavy when one enters two hundred.”

He then smiled brightly at the Elven-King. “Well, not for all it is true. I do not doubt you and Tauriel were as young and as supple as spring at that age. But I am not… You heard me tell her I was tired of the journey, but in truth, I am tired of all. I am tired of much that goes on in this world. I heard some elves had begun to head West at last. Will you be joining them?”

“Sometime in the near future,” he said. “My son feels the sea calling. I do, too, and for many years I have but delayed time and time again. No longer will I delay now. The next years will see me leave Arda. The Silvan Elves will rule themselves until all else falls with the decay of world and the forming of a new.”

“Will Tauriel go with you?” the dwarf asked plainly enough.

Thranduil looked at him quizzically. “She would not part without you…”

“No,” Kili admitted. “But you shall part once I am dead and you will take her with you. You must promise you will. I am afraid she may choose to stay and tarry. This world is soon all she will have left of me… Do not say I am too young and two hundred is still vigorous for a dwarf and what not. I am tired, Thranduil. I have many years left, it’s true, but only now do I realize how heavy they are to endure. My mother was right: it is terrible to watch all whom you love perish, and age continue to wear you so. I miss them both, my mother and my brother. I miss my uncle. And my friends. Now only old Dwalin remains of my company. I shall see him when I go to Erebor. He cannot leave his bed most days, but still he lives on. His face brings me much comfort in a world I no longer know. Dwarves live longer than men, and yet our fates are no different it seems, for even that world has changed. Bard has long time died, Bain is no more, and even Tilda… Young Tilda she was to me and thus she shall ever remain. Yet all that is left of her is her grandchildren who only know of me from stories of dwarves and elven magic. At times I feel as if all that shall be left of me will be one grand fairy story. You must feel the same or something of that ilk, do you not? For all whom you knew and loved have now become stories, and those stories will soon become legend. And legend give way to myth and so on. In the end perhaps that is what we will all become; something to be told and forgotten and told again. Sometimes I forget why I remain…”

The old dwarf suddenly became young again in Thranduil’s eyes. He was that same foolish prince who had paraded in his woods, bold and reckless enough to venture into darkness just to reunite with his fair maiden. How different he seemed now, how afraid and alone he seemed in a world without friend or kin. A pity befell the Elven-King, but whether it was for the mortal dwarf or for his immortal self, he could not say.

Kili took his silence for understanding and began to speak again but this time with tenderness in his voice. “But, of course, I remember… I remain for her. It is a lot to endure… life, is it not? A life is a heavy burden. You know best, I suppose. Living with Tauriel all these years had taught me that much. Now I know elves do not remain unchanged but age as well. They age slowly, slower than all else on Middle-Earth, but do they do age… I have seen her age somedays. Her skin remains unmarred, her smile loses no splendor, her hair shines as brilliantly as in her youth, and yet a gleam in her eyes lessens. I can see it. I have grey hairs, but she has greyed somewhere in her soul. Before I feared she would pity me in old age, but now I know we both pity each other now and then. I sometimes feel sadness for her immortality, as she feels sadness for my mortality. And yet I still wonder what will become of her once I leave. She must go West. I know she feels the longing for the sea even though she may not say. I know the world beyond this one calls to her and she remains ever steadfast because of me. And yet it is much the same as I remain here because of her. It is odd, is it not? Yet it is love that holds us in our place.”

Thranduil nodded slowly, understanding the dwarf’s woes and beginning to feel heavy with burdens himself. “She will tarry regardless if you want it or not. Once you die, she will want to remain here for as long as she can just to be with you. To her, the land itself is part of you, to her this world is everything…”

“And this world is everything to me for it is the only place will shall ever meet,” the dwarven prince mused with another wistful smile. “I am not certain of the world beyond, I do not have much hope for our fates are different. And yet perhaps much will change when the time comes... Perhaps I should not speak of what has not come, for there is much fair still left in this world.”

“There is,” Thranduil looking at the vase of nephredils on the table. He thought of son as he observed the light on the flowers change. He knew at once sunset had come and Glorindor had arrived. Kili nodded as they began to hear footsteps approach the hall. They heard Tauriel’s gentle and cheerful voice, along with another grave voice appearing to be Glorindor. 

At last, the once dwarven prince touched his wine. “Strange,” he said as he took a sip.

“Is it not to your liking?” Thranduil asked gingerly.

“In youth, I thought it too sweet, now in old age it is too bitter,” Kili said. “But which one is true?”

“Both,” the Elven-King told his friend. “It is both the sweet and the bitter.”

* * *

AN AUTUMN PARTING

The dwarves’ song echoed through the halls. Thranduil had never been much for dwarvish music yet the melody moved him so. It was a somber tune that was sung with great melancholy and grave longing. It was thus between songs of the Lonely Mountain and Durin the First that Thorin Oakenshield’s nephew was laid to rest.

It was Gimli son of Gloin, who had known and admired him, and Durin VII, the King Under the Mountain, who had been his close cousin, who carried his body forth. The death was particularly hard on Durin who only last year had buried his own father Thorin Stonehelm. And yet it was a grim passing to all as Kili had been come to Erebor to live the last years of his life. He had reached his two-hundred and fifty-fifth birthday five winters ago and he had decided to visit the Lonely Mountain “one last time”. Though he planned to stay a season, he remained there ever after, keeping his ailing cousin, Thorin, company and counseling Prince Durin. Tauriel had naturally accompanied him and dwelled in the mountain thereafter. She seemed please to remain there as she liked being able to visit Mirkwood frequently, and Dale, she was also fond of, for Tilda’s great-grandchildren were friends of hers. In those days, she had been rather happy and content. She had many dinners with Thranduil, hunted often with Glorindor, and walked many starry nights with her husband. And yet, the Elven-King had seen it plain in her face, Kili was fading and would soon leave her. It pained her greatly, but she persisted in being ever lively with her husband. All Thranduil knew was that in the last two years they had become inseparable and her visits to the outside world had lessened. Tauriel had indeed been by his side when he died, and little was said of their parting for it had been private to all and terrible to those who had heard of it.

The Elven-King contemplated the Once Prince Under the Mountain as his body was laid down. His hair and beard were snow-white, and he wore blue silk robes trimmed with silver, his wedding robes they were. In traditional dwarf fashion, he was adorned with many brooches and jewels, but only one necklace he wore. An elven pendant of a flower carefully encircled his neck and a sword rested in his hands. He was buried swiftly and deeply, and he was laid next to his brother at last.

Once the affair was over, Thranduil stood by himself pondering for a short while. It was then Gimli, strangely, came to him. “There goes the last of Thorin Oakenshield’s company,” he mused mournfully.

The Elven-King, trying to be polite for Legolas’ sake and the sanctity of the funeral, nodded in agreement. “A brave one he was, but he now rests with all of them and his kin. At last he has returned to his brother’s side.”

“Aye,” Gimli said with sadness. “I knew but little compared to you or Durin, but he was a fine dwarf and my father often spoke much of him and with much fondness. Of course, none of that compares to the Lady Tauriel…”

“You have seen her?” the Elven-King asked prudently.

“Aye,” the dwarf replied. “Legolas has tried to counsel her much and much to no avail. She does not cry but mourns deeply. Aye, she does. I have seen her myself. I offered my condolences and though her face was fair and gentle, it was marred by grief. She said naught but smiled at me. A smile, she gave me, yet a sad smile it was.”

“I shall go speak to her. She harkens my counsel at times,” Thranduil said as he took his leave of the dwarf.

He found Tauriel on the outskirts of the mountain and near the lake. Night had fallen by then; the air was chilly and the moon bright. He walked past his son and saw had a glimpse of the graveness of the affair, for Legolas’ face showed the same measure of misery he had seen on Gimli. He pressed his son’s shoulder in affection but spoke naught until he reached the lady herself. She did not address him, but he could tell she felt his presence.

“Does it hurt as much as the first time?” he asked softly.

“No,” she said simply and without looking at him. “It hurts more and yet not at all. I saw it in his eyes, he was tired. Long before now, long before all, he was tired, and all weighed heavy on him. I could not detain him, not for the world. I could not let him linger where his soul could no longer dwell. Though his heart broke to part from me, I bid him to go and not weep for me. But I… I wept for him. I weep for him even now, though tears may not show, for all has dried within me. Little remains within me that takes root or blossoms.”

“Then winter has come truly to you at last,” Thranduil observed.

“Yes, and yet I am not cold,” she said turning around at once to face him. Her eyes were as clear and as green as spring, and her cheeks as white as winter’s first snow. Yet sorrow stretched before her face and grief adorned her well. “It is not cold I feel, but a numbness. It is strange, I never thought it would be like this, for I do not despair but plainly dwell on all that was and all that is to be. When Thorin passed… Thorin Oakenshield, that is, the little hobbit spoke to me, or I to him. Bilbo Baggins was an unhappy figure in those days, and I tried to console him some, but instead he counseled me. He said: ‘So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings.’ Before I thought he spoke of Thorin and his passing, now I am unsure. Everything has its ending, as everything has its beginning. I am in the beginning of mine. My ending, that is. All the lies before me is West… and the sea after that.”

“Yes, West. But to your ending of I am not certain,” he said solemnly. “I believe there are no endings, because nothing ever ends. Even though your husband has left you, your love for him remains and it shall remain till the end of days.”

Tauriel nodded wistfully, a light smile came upon her face. “Perhaps, but I will head West. That is certain for I cannot ever again dwell peacefully in Erebor or Mirkwood. I shall linger in the West until the sea calls to me at last and your ship beckons my call.”

At that moment, snow began to fall softly. They stood in silence to admire it as in a whisper the world surrounding them became white and pure. “Curious,” he observed. “It is too early for snow. An early winter, it may be. The first snow in Erebor, nonetheless.”

“Snow after fire,” she answered stretching her hand to touch the faint snowflakes that danced in the wind.

* * *

A WINTER ENDING

A chill wind crept past Thranduil. It was an East breeze that reminded him of home and all he had ever known. He looked back not, for West lay ahead, and there lay both his future and his past.

Heading West always had a peculiar effect on him, it was coming to a ghost of sorts. A ghost filled with memories of lost youth, lost kingdoms, lost lords… He remembered how he dwelled in the great kingdom of Doriath, and how his father walked with him in the beauty of its walls. His father was tall and graceful then, glad he was of heart and laughed much he did. He recalled the first time he beheld Elu Thingol, the silver-haired king, and his noble queen, Melian, the maia. Never had he seen such splendor take elven form before, nor never again would he for none ever reached the comeliness of them. He was young then and all he wanted was to possess an ounce of the wealth and splendor he saw among the great rulers of the fair land. But that was then, and the kingdom fell to ruin and his father died and Thingol perished and Melian’s light would never be seen again in Arda. His own wishes for jewels and wealth went awry, for much toil he suffered after his wife died, and much he neglected his son in his grief.

Yet he dwindled in the memory still, for all of them held a secret beauty to them: there was sadness and deep longing in equal measures. And this longing clung to his heart swiftly and eased his woes, but what he longed for he could not remember. His father, perhaps. His wife, as he always did. No, what he wished most deeply for was to see the world as it once was and not as it was now. He then mourned for what would become of the land, of the fallen ruins of Doriath. No trace of it remained and yet his heart told him otherwise. And he more ardently wondered: what would become of Arda itself? If the time of men had indeed come, and elves would part as they were destined to, what would remain of the Eldar? And what would become of dwarves and hobbits? And Mirkwood... _What would become of the woods Lothiriel loved so? What will become of her flowers?_ This he pondered as his party arrived at the Grey Havens. There a ship, handsomely made and white as pearl, would bear him and the last of his kin. His own son would join him soon… _That is if he is able to part from the dwarf_ , he mused.

Of late, the dwarf had grown old and slow, and Legolas could not travel with him as often as he desired. Such was his son’s dismay with the dwarf’s old age, that he boldly asked his father if the ship could bear a dwarf. “Do not be ridiculous,” he had told him sharply. He said no more and yet Thranduil had an odd feeling Legolas was not above recklessness. Hobbits were one thing, for ringbearers they were, and an exception was to be made. But for a dwarf? The whole notion was ridiculous, still he knew his son to be foolhardy, so he did not hold his breathe to whether he would live to see an elf and dwarf wed _and_ a dwarf cross the sea.

The mood of his party was mixed, some were happy to answer the call to the sea and head to Valinor at last, some were saddened to leave friends and the world they knew behind. Thranduil understood both feelings intimately and well. One particular elf was impartial to one or the other, this was Tauriel. She looked ever youthful that morning, with the sea-wind in her hair and a calm expression in her eyes. She gazed not West, but East, as if the Lonely Mountain would appear once more behind them.

“The only mountains you will be able to see are the Misty ones, if even that,” he told her lightly.

She smiled. “You are wrong. I can also see the Blue Mountains. That was Kili’s home. His true home. We passed much time in those mountains, many of his kin and friends dwell there still. Descendants, at that, it’s true. And yet I wonder what will happen to them. What will happen to all who remain? Now that we leave this world, how do we leave it? This is the only land I’ve ever known and the only land he dwelled in. It feels strange to leave to a world that does not know him. Where there is nothing of his that lingers… No kin or mountain or land.” Her eyes remained steadfast onto the East, as if the Lonely Mountain were to form betwixt clouds or above mist.

“He knew you well,” Thranduil said carefully. “He said you would dwell in the memory of him, in the land of his. He asked me to take you West, to take onto the sea and beyond. He did not want you to tarry here.”

“I am not tarrying,” she replied most sincerely. “I have tarried all my life in fear of things. I know what it is to tarry. But now I truly know what I always known. I belong here. I know this at last, Thranduil. I came thinking that my mind would change, that my heart would change, but it has not, and it will not. I look to the sea and now I realize what I have longed for is already here. I am sure the splendor of the next world is unmarred. I am certain no beauty on Arda could rival it for everything here has been touched by darkness and by age and decay. And yet, to stay an eternity in the glimmer of the light of Valinor, as radiant and as pure as it may be, would only mean forever seeking that which I could not find. The stars in Elbereth’s very own crown could not match mine own, for the stars that shine above the wood and mountain are etched in my heart. I say not this in hubris, but in humbleness for the stars in her hair shine best from below here. Yes, here… There is much fair in this world left, though I have misplaced it…”

She looked down, deep in thought and contemplation, and Thranduil’s perturbation only grew. “Tauriel,” he said slowly. “Much did Kili say about this. He feared you would stay behind seeking him in where he is no longer. He asked me to take you West…”

“And you have,” she said suddenly. “I am West and yet to cross the sea, that I cannot do. My heart will not let me.”

“Your heart is fickle, at best. Remember you once thought to leave the dwarf would do you much good,” the Elven-King answered sorely. “Now you are intent in believing you must stay behind. He would not want this…”

“No,” she said shaking her head. “My heart is not fickle. And I’m uncertain whether he would want it or not, for you could live ages with someone and never quite know what their words would be. Though you may guess it well! And you could never truly know what within their hearts they kept, though you may feel it at times. I have never told you the last words we spoke, have I? I have never told a soul, in truth. But I shall speak them plainly to you here for it shall be much time before we meet again. He said it hurt to part from me, that he felt his heart sunder in two. I told him to worry not for we should meet again. I do not know why I said that knowing it could not be true. Yet, he said naught about my lie and nodded with much understanding. He said to meet again shall be a dream, and that perhaps it would be the greatest dream of all. Then he shook his head slowly for he was very tired then and his time was soon coming, and he spoke to me one last time. ‘Nay, to spend this time with you has been the greatest dream, all rest shall pale in its beauty. Never again will I find a spring as beautiful as the ones in your eyes. And nevermore the stars will shine as brightly. I part with you only at the very last moment and unwilling. Cut me into pieces and put me in your stars.’”

She stopped for a minute, and though tears were in Thranduil’s eyes, her eyes remained clear yet pensive. “Forgive me, if the last part seems rather strange, for it was a private remark, or rather an exchange we had a long time ago… By the sea it was, curiously enough. Almost two hundred years ago now... It was a jest and nothing more, he smiled when he said it, you know. I smiled, too, and never cried so his last vision of me was not marred by tears.”

“He loved you truly,” he said with sorrow. “He wanted your happiness most of all, and he did not want you stay alone in this world.”

“But I am not alone,” Tauriel said gladly. “I have Glorindor who remains, the dwarves of the East and West are my friends, and the Men of Dale regard me kindly. And, in truth, all that is in this world is a friend of mine, for we have known each other well and will continue to do so. And they knew Kili well. I feel him here yet, and much I fear that if I crossed the sea, I should feel him no longer. If I were to cross I would only dwell in the halls of Mandos and though much healing I would find, much solace I would not. I would miss too much of this world, of Mirkwood, of its trees and its flowers. My sweet King, who would tend Lothiriel’s flowers? No, I will not sail onto the West, I shall stay here and remain Tauriel of Mirkwood. I shall stay in Arda until it ceases to be and only then I shall reunite with you in the halls of Mandos. Promise to come looking for me. I shall miss you and Legolas much.” 

This she said certain and unafraid, and Thranduil realized at once, with heaviness in his heart, that the child he knew and loved was gone. And only a woman remained, a woman of pure heart and unmeasurable courage. She was unwilling to go where her heart could not. She loved Kili still, and she loved Arda and its people as well. He knew this and mourned but little, for he had known somewhere in his heart this would be her choice. “Very well,” he said at last. “I shall wait for you. I shall meet you again not in winter, but in the eternal spring of Valinor.”

She smiled at him, it was sweet and bitter at once. “I shall look forward to the spring here. The flowers shall be pretty in Mirkwood. I shall remember and think of you. I shall bring nephredils to Lothiriel’s statue while you embrace her likeness in flesh. May your reunion be glad and beautiful. May it never end.”

They, then, embraced for a last time as it would a very good while indeed before they met once more. And though neither cried, their mournfulness was felt by all whom could observe. “Be gentle of heart, daughter,” he told her, “for I believe your end will not be in such sorrow. I see your face and I know your winter has passed. I see it in your eyes, a late spring is to come.”

She nodded softly and just then a single tear fell down her cheek. “Goodbye, _ada_ ,” she said to him.

Nothing more was said, and as the ship crossed the Grey Havens, Tauriel remained and waved at him. Her face was glad, and Thranduil beheld her gaze until at last she faded with Arda and all the world he knew. It was then the morning sun gave way to noon and the air was soon brisk. He breathed the air deeply and with much fondness, for it was an Eastern wind and East meant home. The breeze had come from the beyond the Lonely Mountain, dancing its way through Dale, running down the shores of Laketown, and rousing the last leaves on trees in his ancient forest. But then he bid it all goodbye and turned to face West.

There his eyes saw only sea, but his heart could see beyond. He beheld a maid with hair the color of the sun and a gaze as blue as the ocean. He saw her clad in white and her locks adorned with flowers. He thought much of what to say, but then realized he had the rest of his life to think of words. And as the ship entered open waters, the winter of the past fell behind him and a youthful spring came upon his heart. A vigorous spring, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was very nice and interesting to write from Thranduil's POV. Refreshing and sad, all the same. Also some of you might realize the last lines of the chapter are the literal translation of the name Thranduil (vigorous spring). Also totally made up the name of Thranduil's wife since we are never told in the text. So yeah I borrowed the named Lothiriel which was pretty and began with an L, as I noticed many elves name their children after the variations of their name or simply starting with the same letters. 
> 
> Finally, I promised this story was bittersweet and I'm delivering as such. This chapter was bitter but the next (and final) one will be sweet. We skipped around the timeline of Tauriel and Kili's relationship, so for the last chapter we'll explore a happier time or rather moment. Again thank you for reading dearly. And forgive me for all the pain I caused in the reading of this chapter <3


	17. The Star and The Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F I N A L L Y ! This is the end. It's been such a journey writing this. I want to thank every single kudo, comment, and what not! Thank you!

She was dreaming. It was merely a dream and it was sweet and tender. She woke in his arms. His eyes were closed as it was still night. She smiled at the mere sight and planted a kiss on him. The kiss was as warm as his skin. He had returned safely to her, against all odds, against all woe and hardship, against all twists of fate…. he had returned. And she held him each night in her arms, tightly so and with much hope. And yet he was not hers to keep, not for as long as she was doomed to dwell in this world. His existence was fleeting, hers was not. The air turned cold…

Tauriel turned to observe that the bedroom window had been left ajar. _Kili_ , she thought. He had been complaining of late about being too warm in the night.

“It’s my hair,” she had said almost apologetically. “It is too long and too warm to sleep with at times.”

He laughed at that. “Oh, I would never complain about that! I’m rather used to it now. It’s this loathsome southern weather.”

They have travelled south upon leaving Rivendell. They were intent on following the river all the way down to the sea, for of late Tauriel had been struck by a strange longing for the sea. She wanted nothing more than to walk among its shore and smell its salty air. Kili, who only knew the frosty sea north of the Blue Mountains, had seemed intrigued enough by the prospect of warmer seas that he agreed to the journey. It was a rather large detour as they were heading West towards the Shire, and then North towards the Blue Mountains. They were due to celebrate a rather very late hundredth birthday with Bilbo Baggins. And a little after, Kili’s very own hundredth birthday with some of his old friends and twice-removed kin the dwelled in theBlue Mountains. Yet the journey had delayed such a party and Kili had cared little for it. “I rather be with you on my birthday,” he said rather glad. “You and the sea will make the best company any dwarf can ask for, or anyone with a heart for beauty.”

And indeed, it was, for once they had passed the ruins of Tharbad, the air turned warm and fresh with salt. Their spirits grew as they trekked on, for despite the winds of late winter, the breeze grew less cool each day and sea birds danced above their heads. So it was that a week or so, at last, they came upon blue waters shimmering under swift sunset. The sight contented their hearts so much so that Tauriel felt a deep desire to submerge her feet under the cool water. She ran as fast as her body could carry her and plunged right onto the shallows. She was greeted with such icy cold water that she jerked so fast and almost lost her balance.

Kili watched all yet remained where he stood, laughing, nonetheless. “What did you expect? It is winter, and it is water. It’s supposed to be cold!”

She felt oddly embarrassed. “I supposed… since the air is warm…”

“Of course, it is!” he said still snickering. “But it does not denote warm water. The water and sea do not bend their natures to air. Only the harshest sun can temper their spirits.”

“Well, in Mirkwood the water begins to warm this time of year,” she said rather indignantly. “In the weeks before spring, all water tempers and everything blossoms.”

“In your magical woods, I’m sure,” he said playfully. “But out here… I believe it is entirely different. I always find the sea strange, myself. It’s not natural.”

“Natural?” she repeated curiously.

“Balin always said it so. And my uncle did so too. My uncle, Frerin that is. He both loved and feared the sea. He took some joy in watching it from afar, it is quite beautiful to look from beyond the mountains.”

“Yes, I remember,” she said pensively. “It is a different sea up there, however. The sea of the North is dark, cold, and green. Beautiful, but different to this one.”

“How so?” Kili inquired.

“This sea leads to the Undying Lands. We call it many names; Aman, the Blessed Realm, Valinor... It is not natural, as you say, for Aman exists beyond Arda and this world. It is a world untouched by all else.”

“Yes,” he mused. “Perhaps that’s what they meant. Unnatural to Arda, and strange to us dwarves. I’ve heard elves talk of it in Rivendell. They say its’ beauty is unmatched and its splendor unrivaled…”

“For it is unmarred by all,” she finished. “When Morgoth came upon this land, he marred it for evermore. All that exists upon in Arda knows of evil and sorrow. It knows of darkness and grief. And yet… beyond the sea lies a land forever pure, a land of all light and no dark. A land of eternal stars and bright sunrises. The land is green there, for it is spring eternally so. And the light… I believe I have seen it in dreams for it shines and warms all it pierces. Gladness exists upon hearts there and all heals.”

When she finished, she felt dreamy and hopeful, her heart fluttering with the rocking of the waves. She was lulled by the sound and images in her head of a world beyond this. Among it all, she still heard Kili’s voice from a distance, like a dream she could not shake.

“Do you miss it?” he asked. 

“How can you miss something you do not know?” she said gently. “My kin never walked those lands. They never crossed the sea. It is a privilege to cross to us Silvan elves. A privilege Thranduil has graciously bestowed upon me. And yet it is an honor I dream not of.”

“How can you not?” he asked. “You say it is the fairest of all things.”

“No, it is not,” she answered. “It is only fair where you are, and where you are not… there is little beauty or joy I can find.”

“But someday I will no longer be here,” he began solemnly. “And you will part to those magic lands of undeath, will you not? You will dwell with the light beyond worlds at last, and your spirit will be glad.”

She shook her head but said naught. She felt suddenly cold and the shores had seemed to darken with the sunset. She knew, from the tenderness in his words, he wanted her to go there and find solace in the world beyond worlds. Aman… She could dwell an eternity in the Halls of Mandos. But would it do her any good? _No_ , she thought bitterly. _What good is an eternal spring when winter sits upon the heart…_

“Tauriel,” Kili said suddenly. “Look!”

She saw, at once, surfing above the darkness of the waves two silver figures. Dolphins, they were, and joyous they jumped to the last rays of sunlight. Her heart stirred at the sight and the darkness passed.

“Do you suppose they have seen the land of Aman?” Kili asked curiously. “Do you suppose they have swam in both waters? Are they creatures of Middle Earth or are they of the Blessed Realm?”

“Why should they not be of both?” she said smiling. “Or perhaps they belong to neither. Perhaps the sea is their true home and they exist only in the place between worlds.”

“Is there such a place?” he asked out loud, but she was unsure if the question was for her or for whom ever could answer it. “Where all worlds meet? Where we shall meet after all?

“There must be,” she said softly, “for I dream of such a place.”

They spoke of not much else that night, but now the conversation had seemed return to her mind and caused her a little unease. And it had been days hence their first arrival to the shores of the southern sea. They now had settled in a little town near it, and in a homely inn they both found comfortable enough.

Yet so close they were to the sea that one could listen to the waves crashing in the night and seagulls singing in the morning. And this night was no exception, for she heard the melody of waves outside her window. It was a lullaby intent on putting her to sleep, but so close it was to dawn that Eärendil was already sailing the skies. Indeed, the morning star shone so brightly outside that though cold the wind was the air remained full of promise. She wondered if she should go to the shores and wait for dawn to arise behind waves. Kili would not wake up for he rarely woke before dawn, much less it there was no need for it. Besides, dawn would only bring his hundredth birthday and she knew he would prefer to sleep in on such occasion… _If only I could stop dawn_ , she thought suddenly. _Tell Eärendil to sail back and bring forth no more days. Let time not come. Let time not touch him…_

She felt the sudden urge to go to him and as she turned to observe him, her heart was comforted at once. Kili was snoring as peacefully as ever, and most certainly dreaming of sweet, pleasant things. To look upon such a serene figure asleep, one could not think that the time pressed on and death was loosely behind. And yet no grey hairs were upon him and youthful he was in his movements and face. _And yet_ , her mind echoed. _It is all eventual. It is all to come… Mortality._ But such was the sight of him, and such was the song of the sea from outside and such were the stars in her proximity, that all dark thoughts faded as soon as they came. She mused she should go watch the sun rise from the sea and let hope wash over her as it did. And then, she would return to wake Kili from his sleep with a kiss and promise of dreams. For only then, would they mind time not.

* * *

The sand was moist and cool beneath her feet. She felt her light robe cling to her skin so much so that she felt herself naked in the wind. The sky had turned from black to dark blue, and the stars were slowly dwindling in their reign. Only the star of Eärendil seem to grow in brilliance and followed her forth, and she, in turn, was glad to be in such noble company. The waves were at full force when she arrived by the edge of the shore. The seagulls had begun to awaken and flew above her with ease despite the hardy wind. Similarly, her hair flew behind her and followed the rises and falls of the breeze. Her face was cold, yet warmth filled her for the sight was lovely to withhold. A full ocean colored in cerulean blues and faint glimmering stars. With such beauty, the cold she would not mind.

She sat on the sand and closed her eyes only thinking of sea song. She began to hum the lay of Eärendil to herself, for hopeful she felt and peaceful she was _. My heart shall be glad even in winter_ , she mused. _And perhaps beyond if such a place indeed exists._

She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to see Kili himself. He looked slightly bedraggled and his eyes were weary, and yet a grin was upon his face. He was surely not too warm now, for he was clutching his robes fiercely when he spoke. “I do not understand you for it is freezing. And yet I do, for otherwise the day is fair.”

She did not have to ask, for she knew he had followed her like many times before. She was prone to wander off in awe of the world around her and he was used to accompanying her on many merry occasions. Yet there were times she ventured out alone, as she was accustomed in her life of old. Six hundred years of loneliness were not easily remedied, and habits were hard to break for Tauriel. And yet her heart was happy to see him, and had almost, in fact, been expecting him. Thus, she was unsurprised and spoke cheerfully. “Is it day yet? No, let us talk, it is not day.”

He nodded gladly as he sat beside her. “Yes, it is still night, but only if you will it so! Whatever time you call it, it shall be so.”

“Have I that much power?” she asked smiling. “That I did not know. And though my heart wish it were still the night, the star of the Eärendil foretells the coming of day.”

“Oh, that,” he said brightly. “It is but the evening the star, my love. Not the morning one, I assure you.”

“Oh, truly?” she said amused. “Though, truth you speak, for the star of Eärendil is both of dusk and dawn. But very well, then, suppose it is night… The seagulls are rather confused, then, for they are flying well now and have not noticed it is not day.”

“Oh, them…” Kili said thoughtfully. “Those are nightingales, not seagulls.”

“Nightingales?” she burst out in laughter. “Now, then. Nightingales are suddenly big birds of sea who feast on fish?”

“Surely,” he said innocently, “for they could not be out and about in the night if they weren’t so.”

She continued to laugh and shook her head. “Kili, you jest too much, and yet for all your good words you cannot undo the morrow. Look! The sky has begun to turn violet and dawn has arrived.”

He sighed and yet seemed content to amuse her, if only for a little while. “Truly! I supposed I was not watching the sky as closely as I should have. There are other fairer things on land I rather gaze upon.”

After all these years, she still blushed with his words. “There is much fair upon land, that is true. Though I will advise to gaze upon the sky, for the sun will soon arise.”

“Oh, I will look to her coming, but no splendor can be matched to that of a fair maid I know on land,” he said as he proceeded to shower her in kisses. Each kiss was swifter and sweeter than the next. And she could resist such a wild delight. “She burns brighter than the fiercest sun and the finest jewel in night,” he muttered.

“Now, you speak sweetly but unwisely,” she said. “For Arien, maiden of sunlight, is fairer and fiercer than all on Arda.”

“But she is fire,” he said bestowing another kiss on her. “And you cannot kiss fire.”

“I thought we spoke of beauty and not kisses,” Tauriel said playfully.

“Then we speak of stars,” he answered. “For I believe you consider them the most fair. Tell me, what stars entreat your eyes tonight?”

“Tonight? But it is not night,” she said. “It is day and the stars dwindle now.”

“Not the stars that are your eyes,” he observed. “They seldom dwindle.”

“They cannot,” she said tenderly as she met his eyes. “Not while I’m looking at you.”

He caressed her face and pressed his forehead against hers. His touch was warm and gentle, and she felt lulled by it. Even the sea song faded and the birds above them were heard no more. “Then,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “how can someone such as me entreat your eyes so?”

“Such as you…” she echoed. “All of you entreats me. I could no sooner choose a finer star to bestow all my love to.”

“A star?” he repeated humored. “Am I a star now?”

“No, I am jealous!” she said gladly. “I am too jealous to share you with others for stars are always seen and loved by all. And yet… perhaps you could delay the sun for a while. Yes, for I would cut you into a thousand tiny stars and thus the skies would be so fair that day would not dare come. All would forget the garish sun and in turn worship said stars. If I was not so covetous, I would do such a task, but alas I am too fond of you. I cannot part from you.”

“I do not think we could part,” he admitted. “Such a cleaving of the heart would be most beastly. Though it is to come.”

“I think not of it,” she lied.

“You think _too_ much of it,” he said teasingly. “But I’ll admit so do I. I often think what is to come and whether anything would be of worth… That is, if there is anything of worth in the world beyond for me? Is there anything to admire in a place where you are not? Is there a reason to dwell there?”

“You would see your forefathers, would you not?” she said comforting him. “And your uncle, Frerin, as you mentioned him. And your brother…”

A bittersweet smile came upon his face. “Yes, my brother. Perhaps I could linger a day or two for him but no longer if it meant to be parted from you. Truthfully, I do not struggle so much in leaving you, but rather in the eternity of not seeing you. That I irk and cannot endure. I am sure the mountains are very fair there, and all seems as the day Durin first awoke. I am sure there is gold and silver aplenty. I am certain Thorin and my brother and my mother will greet me warmly when I arrive. And I am also certain all others who I lost and loved will there by their side. And yet, they all seem rather great price for losing whom I most love.”

“That is a road we both must take,” she said most wistfully. “A road we do not know an ending to.”

He sighed as they watched the sky turn from rose to gold. No more stars remained except Eärendil himself, and even now his ship seemed to be sailing away. Yet Kili seemed taken by this very last star that thus he spoke with much longing. “Then, I much rather be cut into stars. Would you do such a thing for me, Tauriel? When I die, take me and cut me into little stars. Then, I could watch over you for evermore. I would be greatly pleased just to see you if I could not hold you. An eternity of that is better than naught.”

Tauriel wanted to cry, but the sun had begun to rise, and golden was the world where its rays touched. Even her heart kindled under its warmth and then no such hopeless tears could come. She turned to Kili, instead, and pressed his hand. A tenderness mingled with certainty came to her voice. “But then the night would be too fine, and none should wish for day or sun. An eternity of darkness, it would be, and seagulls would turn to nightingales for good.”

“Nightingales!” he said laughing merrily. “That would be poor indeed for the seagulls, as their song is not as pleasant. Alas, the sun comes! More light and more dark our woes! And yet my heart is glad even now.”

“How so?” she asked.

“Well, it is a fair morning,” he observed. “The sun shines, the shore caresses with her wind, the nightingales of the sea sing, and above all, my lady is well. I have no cause to complain as no greater happiness can I ask for.”

She smiled and embraced him so. “And at that, happy one hundredth!” she exclaimed. “May the next years be kind, plentiful, and ever so long.”

“A hundred years?” he mused. “I have scarcely felt them! And yet they will continue to become gentler the longer I spent them with you.”

They remained in an embrace as they watched the sun rise steadily over the horizon. Darkness fell behind them, and dawn gave way to morning. The air was crisp yet hopeful and the salt in the wind clearing. And the silence that befell them was comfortable and sweet. After much time, Kili spoke, as if though he had awakened from deep thoughts and deeper dreams.

“I am certain we shall see each other again,” he told her. “As long as the sun rises, as long as the stars continue to shine in the night, and as long as I love you, there is yet chance. Even now the breeze begins to warm. I do not think this winter shall endure.”

And he was right, for winter ended swiftly that year and spring came to them before they knew of it. For when they arrived at the Shire on a late spring morning, the air was filled with the scent of flowers. Bilbo Baggins, old in heart but hearty in appearance, welcomed them then with warm bread, milk tea, and gold honey. And Kili and Tauriel spoke to him of much of old. Yet for all the comforts of visiting, they preoccupied themselves much more with the gardens of Bagshot Row. They saw roses aplenty, and Bilbo himself remarked how splendid it was that such beauty could bloom from past frosts and deep blights.

And such were the blossoms in the Shire that year that they lasted well beyond fall and onto late winter. And such was the hand of the Gaffer, Old Hamfast Gamgee, that those roses gave way to daughters that bloomed twice a year and often. And thus, it was that in the winter of her parting from King Thranduil, that Tauriel came upon the great-granddaughters of those roses she saw that fine spring a hundred years or more before. And they looked no less fair than the first day she withheld them, thus she did not regret the passing of the old. 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, THANK YOU FOR READING AND STICKING AROUND TO THE END!!!! I appreciate people reading this even after so many years of the film and it no longer being a popular ship. 
> 
> I also hope you spotted all the Romeo and Juliet heavy verses I threw in this last chapter. If it seems a little bit overly poetic that's why! It's such a lovely and tragic ship that despite all criticism, truly captures that bittersweetness inherent in all Tolkien pairings. I hope the ending was satisfying as I was truly uncertain how it ended when I began writing this. This is a special fanfic for me for it is the first one I write to completion. I was such a pleasure to write this and to write for Tolkienverse in general! 
> 
> I started this two weeks into quarantine and though where I live is not out of quarantine yet, it was such a great creative project to do in these times. Thank you to PJ and Phillippa Boyens and Fran Walsh going off with this pairing. Thanks to Evangeline and Aidan for creating wholesome performances. And thanks to my desire to rewatch the Hobbit trilogy randomly and this idea spawning haha. That is all! Remain hopeful during the rest of these times! <3


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